Emperor of the World
by Buttons14
Summary: Slash, intresting pairing. CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Specs comes back into the room. He throws a face towel at me. “Get out of bed Michelangelo!” He grins and pulls a hat on his head. Loosely based on 'Empress of the World' by Sarah Ryan.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

May 27th, 3:30pm, My House, Manhattan, New York 

It's never good news when your parents decide to have a family meeting in the living room that consists of your mother talking, your father twiddling with a pillow and you staring blankly at the ground.

"James, sweetheart, are you listening to me?"

I nod, even though I didn't hear a word she's said.

"So it's OK with you then?" she asks next.

"What?" I ask dreamily, not really realizing what she's talking about.

My father laughs softly and my mother lets out an aggravated sigh.

"Your mother was just saying," I sit up straighter, when my father talks it's hard not to listen. "We were thinking about going on a cruise to the Mediterranean this summer."

I am suddenly aware of my jaw hanging open. "All summer?" I ask.

They both nod at the same time. Creepy.

"Mom!" I groan. "You know I get sea sick! I'll be throwing up the entire time!"

"James, we can't miss out on the world because of your weak stomach," she says.

"At least let me stay home!" I beg.

"Not by yourself, you're only sixteen!"

I roll my eyes; I'll be seventeen in November. "Mom, you know Specs? He's going to a camp...an _enrichment _camp this summer. Can I go with him?" I try for second best.

The 'enrichment' part tweaks her interest. "You mean Zachary? Yes, his mother was telling me. You'd want to go?"

'Uh huh. Please!"

"I'll think about it." Contrary to most parents, this always means 'yes'.

June 4th, 5:30 pm, Prucher Hall Auditorium

Specs and I drove up together in Specs' old, beat up car. It is multi-coloured and has cow-printed seats. Specs _loves_ his car.

The auditorium is very large and looks unused. There is no gum on the backs of the seats or any scribbled marker graffiti anywhere in the room. Specs fidgets with his glasses and shifts in his chair, trying to get comfortable. Around us many people are filing in and chattering with others. Looks like they all came up with their friends too.

However, we seemed to have sat in the loner section, no one around us is talking and no one is moving much. One girl is leaning back with her head tilted over her seat so her chin is pointed to the ceiling and another is drawing steadily on her arm, tracing the pattern of polka dots and squiggles from her t-shirt onto her limbs. She is wearing a long red skirt that is cut and tied into strands in various places. Beside her is a boy with shocking green eyes and blonde hair of various shades. He has his feet on the seat of the chair, folding up what seems like six feet of dark, distressed, jean-clad leg. Momentarily he spots me watching him and shoots me a smile before focusing on the stage at the front of the auditorium once again.

"Damn, this is boring," whispers Specs, putting his feet up on the seat in front of him.

I nod and stifle a yawn. "I want to get some rest."

Rooms will be assigned after the welcoming speech, so we had to leave our bags in one of the buildings, helter-skelter and littering the floor. I did bring my backpack with me though. Out of it I pull my Discman and sketchbook. I push play and open my sketchbook to the first available page.

I look around, listening to the sounds of Fight Test by The Flaming Lips on my mix CD. I begin to sketch the arch of the walls into my book, trying to make the picture a birds-eye view from the centre of the roof. My lead is too dull and it leaves a second line that I haven't actually drawn, but that is just a sort of afterthought by my pencil.

"What are you drawing?" whispers Specs, leaning over to take a look. I tilt the book towards him, but quickly snap it back and remove my headphones as someone approaches the microphone on the stage and clears his throat.

"Welcome, children, to the fifteenth year that Siegel Institute has held this educational summer programme," there is a polite scattering of applause and the man smiles falsely before continuing. "My name is Bryan Denton, or _Professor_ Denton. During the school year I teach Advanced Journalism at Brown University, here I teach Journalism 101. I am the head of staff here and any problems with teachers, a CIT or the way things are being run in any respect, please see me or one of the other adults in charge."

Beside me Specs's eyes have glazed over and I continue to sketch the auditorium. I have got the shape down and am working to the stage. Soon I will have to add details and occupants.

I have completely stopped listening to what the man is saying, but am jerked back to reality by someone snickering behind me. The girl who was drawing on her arms has shoved her hand in her mouth and is struggling with laughter. I raise my eyebrows at her and she laughs even harder. I turn back around and begin to sketch again.

I start on the audience now, having finished the stage and a little man on it waving and seemingly speaking to the crowd. I just draw heads with bits of hair on them, not venturing into much detail. When I get to our section I draw a sloppy sketch of Specs, I draw the girl with her head tilted back, except now you can see what I imagine her face looks like, with her eyes closed. Then I draw the girl who is laughing, her curly hair wild and untamed and then I draw the boy with the blonde hair who smiled at me. Last I draw what I imagine what I must look like, clutching my sketchbook. As I finish the drawing applause erupts, as if to congratulate my picture. Of course, this is not the case, they are applauding Professor Denton, who has finished his speech and dismissed us.

I show Specs my drawing now and he shrugs. The girl with the red hair who was laughing comes up to me. "Hi, I'm sorry about laughing. He started talking about not getting pregnant while you're here—" my eyes grew wide. "But not in those words, of course. Were you even listening to the speech?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No, I was drawing," I admit.

She smiles cheekily. "Really? Can I see?"

I shrug. "I guess." I hand her the book.

She stares at the picture of the auditorium for a few seconds before flipping through to other pages. "These are good," she tells me. "Did you just get this done now?" she asks incredulously.

"Yeah," I nod.

"My name's Medda, by the way," she says, handing me back my sketchbook. "What's your name?"

I smile, happy to have met someone already. "James, but everyone calls me 'Dutchy'," I tell her. "Oh!" I almost forget. "This is Specs, we go to school together back home."

She turns and faces Specs, who has stood up and is stretching out his legs. "Oh, hello," he says when he sees her.

"Hi, I'm Medda," she says again. They shake hands.

She turns to the both of us. "I was here last year, but none of my friends came back."

"I hope that's not an indication of the year to come," jokes Specs.

I watch the blonde boy walk up the stair to leave the auditorium. When he's standing he is very tall, taller than me by a few inches. When he reaches the top of the steps he stops and seems to be contemplating something. After a pause he turns back around and begins back down towards us.

"Um..." he calls uncertainly upon approaching us. "Do you think I could walk with you guys?" he asks us.

Medda's face breaks into a smile. "Of course! I'm Medda," she says for the third time.

"My name's Christopher," he flinches when he says this. "But _please_ call me Skittery."

I don't ask what's so wrong with the name 'Christopher'; it's a very normal name.

The four of us begin to walk away when I realize I have left my backpack on the ground. I hand Medda my sketchbook and run back to get it. In the row behind me the girl is still sitting with her chin tilted up.

"Uh..." I push her knee slightly. "Are you awake?" I push her knee again.

She sits up and rubs her neck. "What's going on?" she asks, blinking and looking around slowly.

"The speech is over," I tell her. "Did you hear any of it?"

She shakes her head.

"Don't worry," I assure her. "You didn't miss much."

"Dutchy!" calls Specs from the top of the stairs. "Hurry up!"

I shoulder my backpack. "We're going to get our rooms, want to come?" I ask her.

She nods and stands. She is wearing an eighties style skirt over black tights and a lacy white shawl over a plain white shirt. "My name's Isabel."

Together we walk up the stairs and join the others.

June 4th, 6:15 pm, Anderson Hall 

"I'm telling you," insists Medda, jumping around the group. "Get a room in Hall B, it _rocks_!"

None of us have ever been here before so we take her suggestion into consideration. In front of us a girl and a boy turn to face us. "What's so great about Hall B?" asks the boy.

Medda smiles and jumps around a bit more. "The CIT there was _awesome_ there last year! I was checking the hall list and it's the same guy. Seriously."

The girl blinks dumbly. "What's a CIT?" she asks slowly.

Medda rolls her eyes. "Counsellor In Training," she says, though still smiling.

We all introduce ourselves to the couple.

"I'm Jack," says the boy dully. Jack has stringy light-brown hair to his ears and muted blue eyes. He is taller then me, but not quite taller than Skittery. He's maybe about six feet. He is wearing a pair of interestingly chosen pinstripe pants and a navy shirt that reads 'Just be Happy I'm Not Your Kid'.

The girl smiles as if someone has made a mediocre joke. "I'm Jade." Jade looks like the female version of Jack. She has the same blue eyes and light-brown hair; only it is silkier and hangs to her mid-back. She is tall too, but not as tall as Jack, maybe about an inch shorter than me. She is wearing tight jeans and a tank top with a short pink sweater on overtop.

When we all reach the front of the line we request Hall B and the girl behind the desk gives us our keys. Specs and I are sharing a room because we requested it upon signup, but no one else has rooms together because we just met. Luckily, though, Isabel's room is next to ours and Jack's is across the hall.

June 4th, Siegel Institute Cafeteria, 6:30 pm

"Jade is my sister," Jack explains, putting his tray of food down on the lunch table. "Our dad found this place and signed us up. We didn't even know we were coming until the last day of school, I was planning a trip to California with my friends." He sounds understandably upset.

"My parents wanted me to go on a cruise," I laugh bitterly. "I get motion sickness."

Specs nods. "We had to take fifty rest stops on the way up here 'cause Dutchy 'wasn't feeling well'."

I blush and begin to eat my soggy pizza.

Medda sprawls onto the bench and thrusts her tray down dramatically. "I came back because last year I _loved _it!"

"It was that good?" asks Isabel sceptically.

Medda shrugs. "I'm not sure. Maybe it was just because all my friends were here."

Jade blinks. I don't say anything, though not sure why no one else is.

Medda continues. "But this year I've got you guys! It'll be great." She laughs shakily.

"Cigarette?" offers Jack, producing a pack from his back pocket.

Medda nods and grabs one from him. She lights it and twirls it between her fingers for a few seconds before taking a very long drag on it. Nearby a table of cheerleader-like girls have looked up and are shooting us dirty looks. One of them walks over, smirking.

"Excuse me," she says loudly and simpering so that the whole cafeteria can hear her.

Medda looks up and exhales, covering the girl's face in fresh cigarette smoke. "What?" she asks shortly.

The girl coughs and fans away around her head. "It says there is no smoking on the property," she says demandingly, still smirking at Medda.

Medda rolls her eyes and answers coolly. "Oh, does it? I'm terribly sorry." She smiles sourly.

"Well..." the girl stares at Medda's cigarette expectantly.

Medda nods and takes a bottle of Dasani from the girl's hand. She unscrews the top and drops the still-burning cigarette in. "There you go Barbie. Sorry to cause you problems," says Medda sarcastically.

The girl makes a disgruntled sound and storms back to her table. Medda watches her before tossing the bottle in a garbage bin nearby and taking another cigarette from Jack.

As Medda lights up Jack begins to laugh. In seconds all of us but Medda and Jade are laughing hysterically. Medda is sitting coolly on her chair; lighting up her second cigarette and Jade is just staring blankly around the room.

Halfway through this cigarette a CIT approaches Medda and tells her to put out the cigarette.

Very innocently Medda taps the end of her cigarette into the trash before obviously raising her shoe and smushing the butt against it. The Cheerleader Table is looking smug, but when the CIT turns away Medda turns and flips them the bird.

"I'm turning in for the night," she says to us, making a large, fake yawn. "So much activity in one day can wear a girl out.

We follow her to Hall B and turn in to our rooms.

"See y'all tomorrow," says Skittery before closing the door softly behind him.

**End Chapter**

((Hmm, OK, I know I tried writing this before, but it was too close to the real story. Now I am not even looking at the book and trying to write it. The same basic plot line will follow, but not with the same events and such. I hope you enjoyed! Please review!)) ((Oh, what do you think of me making Medda a student? Imagine her some thirty years younger than in the movie. Yep, that's Medda.))


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 15th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room

I roll over in bed and glance at the alarm clock. It is flashing twelve o'clock over and over again. I shut my eyes and open them again and it is still flashing. I sit up in bed and check my watch.

"Damn it," I whisper groggily to myself, my feet hitting the ground.

I sit on the edge of my bed for a minute before standing up fully and dragging my feet to the bathroom. Behind me Specs is still snoring in his bed, not aware of the time.

While I brush my teeth in front of the mirror I listen intently for any sounds is the nearby rooms, perhaps made by the others. I hear nothing. I pull my shirt over my head and throw it on my bed, pulling a new one out of my duffel bag. The shirt has a giant white print of an eagle with its wings spread and I shrug on my black sweater and my old, worn jeans. Specs's hand is hanging over the side of the bed, swaying as he breathes. I watch him for a minute before poking him sharply in the ribs.

"Specs," I hiss. "Wake up! We're going to be late for class."

He opens one eye and then the other. I pull apart the curtains to the room, allowing the sun to pour in.

"Oh crap, Dutchy, close the damn window," he says sleepily, squinting and sitting up, rubbing his head.

I sit on the bed and open my sketchbook. "We've got to be in the cafeteria for breakfast in ten minutes."

"Dutchy," he says. "Don't be so anal." And then he proceeds to the bathroom where I hear the distinct sound of the tap running and toothbrush on teeth.

He slumps back into the rooms and pulls a dark grey sweater on over his green plaid pyjama bottoms and heads for the door. "Ready?" he asks.

I look at him. "You're wearing that?" I ask.

He nods and steps out the door, bumping into someone in the process.

"Morning Jack," I hear him yawn.

"Morning," says Jack. I step out of the room and close the door behind me.

Beside me Isabel is closing her door too, wearing a jean skirt and a bright, extra-large, purple shirt. She sees me and smiles. "Morning," she says.

The four of us walk out into the chilly morning courtyard and across the way to the cafeteria where I see Medda sitting, smoking a cigarette gloomily beside Jade and Skittery. Skittery is talking very animatedly and Jade is staring at him. Once we get close enough Medda, who is clad in an off the shoulder black dress over hot pink leotards, jumps up and hits Jack in the arm. He rubs it and looks at her approachingly. "What?"

"Look what you've got me doing! Smoking! I was supposed to quit this summer!" She hits him again.

Instead of looking angered Jack looks shocked and slightly amused. "How was I supposed to know?" he asks, chuckling softly.

Medda just glares at him.

"Um..." Isabel interjects. "Can we go inside? It's cold!"

Without answering we walk inside and through the doors. I watch Medda throw her cigarette butt to the ground and Jack put his arm around her shoulders. "I'll buy you all the Nicotine patches you need," he offers, smiling. She hits him again, hard, in the stomach.

Breakfast today is pancakes drowned in 'syrup', which really just tastes like wax. Isabel gags on her fist bite and sips at her orange juice for the rest of the meal.

"What class are you all in?" I ask, realizing I don't know.

"I'm taking Art History," Isabel says, grabbing the opportunity to stop glaring at her pancakes.

"Me too!" exclaims Skittery happily, smiling.

I scrunch up my nose. "I'm doing Business Marketing and Publicity Theory," I tell everyone with a sigh. "It was my mom's idea."

"My friend did that last year," says Medda, not venturing any further. This only makes me feel worse. Maybe that's why her friend didn't come back. "But I'm taking Computer Science. I want to be a computer technician, y'know?" she adds.

I nod.

"I'm taking Advanced English," Specs tells everyone, even though I already knew that.

"And I'm in Advanced Photography," Jack smiles and pats his bag fondly, which I now recognise as a camera bag.

We all look expectantly at Jade.

She looks around stupidly for a minute. "Oh, I'm in Advanced Music."

I find it hard to believe she's in advanced anything, especially music, which I struggle at massively.

We finish off breakfast and ask Medda for directions before separating and heading to classes.

June 15th, 8:30 am, Business Marketing and Publicity Theory Classroom

The classroom is much like the auditorium, in the way it is shaped and in the way the chairs are set up, only smaller. A tall, bearded man strides into the room and throws his briefcase down on his desk.

"Keep it down class!" he demands grumpily, as if we're deafening. I turn to the boy sitting next to me.

"Do you know what's up with him exactly?" I ask.

The boy shakes his head. He is short and has black hair, which is flying away from his head. He has observant brown eyes and studies my face for a minute before saying anything. "Nah, I've never been here before. My parents made me come."

"My parents made me take this course," I admit. We both laugh quietly.

"My name's Race," he says.

"I'm Dutchy," I tell him.

The man has finished fiddling with his briefcase and is facing the class. "I want absolute order and attention in my classroom! My name is Joseph Pulitzer, I teach Business and Technology at a high school in Virginia. Of course, there my students call me Mr Pulitzer and so will you. I would like each of you to come to the front of the class and get a textbook off the shelf. When I call your name please say the number of your book. This will be yours all summer, if you do not hand it back in similar condition at the end of the year you will be fined thirty-five dollars..." he trailed off and looked around the class expectantly. "Well?" he barked. "What are you waiting for? Get your books!"

We jumped out of our seats and pulled books off the shelf. He went down the list rapidly, shooting out names.

"Adams, Harrison?"

"Forty-three."

"Cooke, Davis?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Delancy, Oscar?"

"Fifteen."

"Delancy, Morris?"

"Twenty-two."

"Dutchyshen, James?"

Oh! That's me! "Uh...Thirty-nine."

And so it went on...

"Garret, Peter?"

"Twelve."

"Higgins, Anthony?"

"Sixty-five," says Race.

"Your real name's Anthony?" I whisper.

Instead of answering he asks. "Your real name's James?"

I don't say much after that. He has a point.

**End Chapter**

((There you have chapter two. I probably won't update this quickly anymore, but I hope you liked how it's going so far.))


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 16th, 6:30 am, Specs's and My Room

I woke up this morning for my run, which I do at least twice a week. Passing my door when I am closing it is Skittery.

"Morning," he says. I notice, happily, that he is wearing Adidas track pants and a sport shirt.

"Going for a run?" I guess.

He nods and smiles. "You too?"

"Yeah."

We enter the courtyard. Skittery does a few quick stretches that are mostly legs and I follow his lead. Simultaneously we begin to jog.

"I run track at school," Skittery tells me.

This makes sense, Skittery has long legs and an athlete's build.

"Me too, but long distance."

We don't speak for a few seconds. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. His hair is moving slightly with every bounce in his step and a few beads of sweat are forming on his forehead. I'm very sure that I am turning red, Skittery, however, is looking refreshed, like he just went for a swim.

"I do sprints," he says after a while.

"Oh," I grin. "Wanna race?"

"To where?" he asks, looking around.

"The top of that hill," I shout, taking off before him, putting me a good six feet in the lead. Halfway up the hill I can hear his footsteps behind me, crunching on the ground. By the time I reach the top he is far ahead of me.

Skittery smiles. "I should have given you more of a head start."

I laugh and together we make our way down the other side of the hill.

Curving around it is a shallow river. It is maybe only four feet in width, but the water is clear and the bottom looks mostly sandy.

Skittery sits down and takes his shoes off.

"What are you doing?" I ask, bemused.

"Wading," he answers simply, rolling up his pants to his knees and stepping in. he flinches slightly but regains himself and grins. "The water's great!" he exclaims.

I shake my head. "No way, I saw the look on your face," I say.

"Aw, c'mon Dutchy," he coaxes. He is up to his ankles in water. Lifting one foot slowly he splashes me.

"Skittery, cut it out," I say, half-laughing.

He splashes me again.

I pull my shoes and socks off and step in.

"Shit, Skittery, it's cold," I exclaim upon contact.

Skittery laughs. "Yeah, I know. My feet are going to be blue."

I splash him. He splashes me.

I fall down, right on my butt.

"This is the most uncomfortable thing ever," I say in regards to my landing which has placed me between two large rocks. "I think my ass is stuck."

Skittery reaches down to help me up. I pull him down.

Soon we are both covered in water.

Skittery splashes me one last time before standing up and pulling off his sopping shirt.

"You should take your off too—" he says.

I get that lurching feeling again.

"—you might catch something."

I blink and nod. I stand up and pull my shirt over my head. Skittery drapes his over his shoulder and slips his shoes on without socks. I pick mine up and together we walk back up the hill and to out dorms.

"See you at breakfast," says Skittery before going into his room.

"Yeah," I give him a half wave. "See you."

June 16th, 8:30 am, Business Marketing and Publicity Theory Classroom

"Is there a reason you're so blue?" is the first thing Racetrack says upon seeing me.

I nod though I don't elaborate. Racetrack shrugs and opens his textbook. Behind me a couple of boys are whispering. One of them taps me on the shoulder. He has an odd moustache and a bowler hat on.

"Have fun with your boyfriend?" he asks me.

Confused, I turn back around and ignore him.

Racetrack shoots me a look and I shrug.

They tap me again.

"What?" I hiss, turning around again.

"You know who I'm talking about, the tall one. In the river..."

I glare at the boy. "He's not my boyfriend."

They laugh at the same time.

"Sure he's not," says the clean-shaven one, disbelievingly.

"I was running," I say defensively.

The boy shakes his head and turns to the other one. "Hear that Morris, they're just friends."

Morris laughs.

Racetrack has turned around now. "What's the problem?" he asks.

Morris shakes his head innocently. "Nothing, nothing. Just talking to your friend here."

The other boy ignores Race a turns to me. "Gonna take him down to the river too?" he asks, winking.

"What the hell is going on?" asks Racetrack forcefully.

The boy smiles. "You know that Blondie here is quite the man's man."

Racetrack narrows his eyes.

"He lures them down to the river and has his way with them," he laughs.

Morris nods. "Bit of a fag, this one," he says loudly, causing a few people to look up.

Racetrack stands up and grabs Morris by the shirt collar. "What did you call him?" he asks, brandishing his fist.

Morris swallows. "I said..."

"He's a fag," finishes the other boy for him.

Despite himself Morris laughs. Racetrack drives his fist into his stomach. I just watch stupidly. The other boy takes to taunting me.

"Bet your loving this, some sort of fantasy, eh? Two guys fighting on the ground for you..."

The words begin to sink in and in a matter of seconds I am on top of him pounding at his face. He is screaming like a girl.

"What in ruddy hell is going on in here?"

June 16th, 9:15 am, Professor Denton's Office

Racetrack and I are sitting on the stiff wooden desk in front of Professor Denton's desk. He is teaching a class right now, prolonging our sentencing.

"Why'd you do that?" I ask Racetrack after a few seconds.

He doesn't answer for a while, making it seem as if he hasn't heard me.

"Racetr—"

"Hold on, I'm thinking about how to put this."

I wait.

Race clears his throat. "My boyfriend and I hate guys like that."

I stare at him for a minute, trying to figure out if he's serious. He doesn't laugh or smile so I conclude that he must be.

"Oh," I say after a prolonged silence. "Oh."

Racetrack nods slowly. Then he smiles. "You're not, are you?"

I shake my head.

This time he says, "Oh."

I laugh nervously.

He coughs quietly and shifts in his seat. "So...what were you doing in the river?" he asks.

I blush. "Nothing. I was just on a run."

He smiles.

"Just a run," I insist.

He nods. "Sure Dutchy, just a run."

June 16th, 12:00 pm, The Cafeteria

"You have to what?" asks Jack in disbelief.

"Switch classes," I repeat.

Medda sighs melodramatically, twirling an unlit cigarette around in her fingers.

"So...what are you switching to?" asks Isabel after a moment.

I shrug.

Skittery hasn't said anything since I told them why I have to switch classes. He seems uncomfortable that it had to do with him.

Across the room I see Racetrack, sitting alone, eating his lunch. He looks up and catches my eye. I smile.

Specs follows my gaze. "Who's that?" he asks.

I look back to our table. "That's Racetrack," I say.

Isabel looks over. "Invite him over!" she says cheerfully.

When I don't move she jumps up and walks over to him.

In a matter of seconds Racetrack is smiling and has picked up his tray. They walk over and Jade shifts over to make room.

"Hi," says Racetrack awkwardly.

Everyone introduces themselves. Last, of course, Jade.

"So...Racetrack," says Medda slowly, still twirling her cigarette. "Where are you from?"

I realize she didn't even ask us that.

"Um..." Racetrack picks up his fork. "New York City."

Medda smiles. "I'm from good ole Washington DC."

"Specs and I are from New York, too," I tell everyone.

Jack and Jade are from Santa Fe, Isabel is from Chicago, and Skittery is from Dallas. Racetrack lives in Queens. His boyfriend lives in Brooklyn.

"So, Racetrack, what class are you switching to?" asks Skittery to make conversation. "Dutchy doesn't know."

This is the first time he's said my name all meal.

Racetrack shrugs. "I don't know, but it's not a huge loss being kicked out of Business Marketing and Publicity Theory." He laughs bitterly.

"You guys should take up judo," says Jack, jokingly.

Medda laughs roughly. I roll my eyes.

"Maybe I'll do World History," I say, thoughtfully.

Isabel laughs. "Great, you'll go from doing something boring, but admittedly useful, to doing something boring and completely useless," she says, jokingly.

"Hey, those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it," I say defensively.

Isabel rolls her eyes. I laugh.

Later, when we are cleaning up the table Racetrack finds his way beside me.

"Which one is he?" he asks quietly.

"Who?" I ask, confused.

"The one by the river, which one?"

"Oh," I point discreetly at Skittery. "Skittery."

Race nods. "If you were gay, I'd say good choice."

**End Chapter**

((There's chapter three, I'd say I updated pretty quickly...I hope. Anyways, review please!))

**Shoutouts:**

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon**

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun**

**Madison Square: **sorry about the rewrite, I just didn't like how the other one was going. This will be better.

**Jacky Higgins: **you should read the book, it's really good. And she's writing a sequel!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 16th, 9:30 pm, The River

After dinner is over and after I finish the paper work to switch classes to World History I come down to the river and sit, facing it with my back against the hill so that I can partially see the sky, which is filling with stars. In the bottom of my vision, I can see the river, flowing by smoothly and enticingly.

I sit up suddenly and look around. Behind the bushes in front of me I can see the even scatterings of lights. Like from a building.

I sigh and lean again with my back against the hill. I shut my eyes and listen to the darkness. I can hear the soft serenade of crickets and the crunching of pine needles, releasing the smell of them into the air. If I strain, the sound of the cafeteria door opening and closing is heard, as well as the people coming from it, laughing and chattering loudly.

For a while I lay like this, eyes shut and ears open.

Someone calls me.

"Dutchy?"

I sit up, aware that there is a large amount of pine needles in my hair. At the top of the hill stands a figure, silhouetted in the cafeteria's incandescent light. He makes his way down and sits beside me.

"Hi Race," I say, lying down again, hands behind my head, chest moving in, breathing.

"Is this the river?" he asks.

I nod, my eyes shut and listening to the crickets again.

I can hear some shuffling and after a second, light splashing. When I open my eyes, Racetrack is in the water, ankle-deep.

"This is cold," is the first thing he says.

"Strange place to go for a run," is the second.

I shrug. "It was an accident that we found it," I explain

He grins knowingly. "Everything happens for a reason. Nothing is a mistake," he tells me.

This is very clichéd, but it makes a lot of sense. Most of the time. Not right now. Right?

Racetrack steps out of the water and puts his shoes back on. Then he lies down beside me and looks up at the stars.

"So, why'd you come back?" he asks next.

"I don't know. Just to think, I guess," I say, though unconvincingly. And not believing it myself.

Racetrack rolls over so his face is inches from mine, with his elbow on the ground and his hand propping his head up behind his ear.

"Dutchy, have you even kissed a boy before?" he asks.

I get that lurching feeling. Again. I shake my head no.

Racetrack smiles and laughs softly. "A girl?"

I nod. "Does truth or dare count?"

Racetrack laughs appreciatively, but stops quickly. "Seriously, Dutchy, have you?"

I nod again. "Yeah, I had a girlfriend last year."

"And why did you like her?" asks Racetrack, still very close to me, so that I can feel his breath on my brow. "Because she was hot or because 'everyone else had a girlfriend'?"

My brow furrowed. "Neither. She was nice and I liked talking to her."

Racetrack's face broke into a goofy grin. "Do you mind if I try something?" he asks, and, without waiting for an answer, he leans over and kisses me, full out, on the mouth.

To be honest, if I didn't know it was Race, I wouldn't be able to tell who was kissing me. Kissing him was no different than when I kissed my girlfriend last year. The same rounded, even lips, the same forcefulness behind them. The same feeling of nothing.

Racetrack draws away a studies my face.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" I ask.

Racetrack sits up again and nods. "Yeah, his name's Simon, but we call him Spot."

"But you just...you just..." I gasp, wiping my mouth.

Racetrack shrugs and leans back onto the backs of his hands. "Kissed you? Don't worry, Spot would understand. How did it feel though?"

I blink at his insane lack of concern. "It felt..."

"Better or worse than when you kissed your girlfriend?"

"Kind of the same," I admit.

Racetrack nods as if he expected it. "You're bi," he tells me simply, standing up and brushing himself off.

Shocked, I stand up and follow him. "How do you know that?" I ask.

Racetrack faces me, grinning that goofy grin again. "You don't care what gender someone is, you just want to feel the attraction towards them. You said you liked talking to your girlfriend, right?"

I nod, not sure where this is going.

"Well, I assume you like talking to me, right?"

I nod again.

"Dutchy, if I were a girl, would you have asked me out?"

I shake my head. "No, you have a boyfriend."

Racetrack laughs and asks again, rephrasing his question. "If I were an honest to God straight, single girl, would you ask me out, based on our relationship alone?"

"I guess, maybe," I say, not liking where this is going.

Racetrack smiles. "Exactly. You only like people because you think you're supposed to."

I shook my head. "No, Race, that's not true."

He nods confidently. "Yes it is."

I stand on the hill and watch Racetrack disappear over it. When I'm sure he's not there anymore, I walk over it too and go to my dorm.

June 17th, 3:30 am, Specs's and My Room

I lay awake in bed most of the night, staring at the ceiling. Specs's breath comes out, even and heavy, assuring he's asleep. My clock flashes the time and I roll over, frustrated at not being able to sleep. Outside the window a light in the courtyard is flickering steadily.

I pull the screen off and sit out on the windowsill, with my legs pressed against the brick wall.

The air is cool and there are a few bugs flying around the light. In the near distance I can see the river flowing steadily behind the hill. I reach to my bedside table and pull out my sketchbook.

I begin to draw the river, arching its way around the hillside. Then I draw the light, bathing the courtyard in yellowing light. I draw the buildings in the background and, at first, a discarded pair of shoes, looking strangely like mine, beside the riverbed. Soon there are socks in those shoes. And then a pair of shoes like Skittery's. In the end we are both in the river. It is an action shot, he is splashing me and I am ducking from the water.

In the picture I am smiling, like I am enjoying myself. Was I? I study the picture, as if searching for the answer. Yes, I think I was.

The only difference from reality about the picture is that here it is nighttime, as if I am still at the river, right now.

When I bring my legs back into the room and try to fall asleep again it is simple. I have a dream about lying under water beside Skittery, my head immersed, holding my breath.

What does this mean?

**End Chapter**

((So...Race kissed Dutchy, eh? Interesting. Does Race seem...extreme in this? I think he just wants to kiss Dutchy. No, that's not true. Don't listen to this author's note. Just review and read the shoutouts.)) ((Oh, I updated fast because...I wanted to.))

**Shoutouts:**

**Jacky Higgins—**personally, I would say 'good choice' too. Everyone likes Skittery! He's tall and...nice to look at! (but I still love my Itey!!!)

**Madison Square—**sorry, I don't know what the sequel's called, but I have the Sarah Ryan's email if you want it. She told my friend, that's how I know! Also, that line was spawned from the mind of yours truly. Yes, me.

Charile!Muse: was it really? I thought it was in the book!

Me: no, you know that's a lie! I totally made it up!

Charlie!Muse: oh really...

Me: yes, they don't even have nicknames in Empress of the World!

Charlie!Muse: (is dragged away by Peter!Muse)

Me: thank God.

**Erin Go Bragh—**I thought of those lines too!

Charlie!Muse: (tries to make comment)

Peter!Muse: (holds hand over his mouth)

Me: excuse me, my muses are fighting. Again.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**your name is very anime. In grade six I had a huge anime obsession. My name was Hakura D Detori. No jokes, I even drew a picture of it and I could do Guilmon's voice from Digimon! In fact, I have the transformer!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 17th, 8:00 am, The Cafeteria

_Good morning pancakes! _I find myself thinking during breakfast.

The smell fills the halls and I remember how little I ate last night. Probably because I couldn't even chew.

Racetrack meets my eye momentarily, but drops his gaze and returns to his conversation with Jack.

I walk over to Skittery. "When are you going to be running again?" I ask him.

He hesitates for a minute. "Listen, Dutchy," he says. I don't like how he says 'listen'. "I don't think we should go running again."

That's when I feel it. Right after that recently familiar feeling of my stomach lurching comes a bleeding one around my chest. Like my heart is crying.

"Oh, yeah, that's be—that'd be OK," my voice is cracking and my nose is burning. I try to smile and manage a weak one.

Skittery looks awkward. I feel like an idiot, I'm _such_ a moron. Why would I do this?

I smile again. "No problem. I'm going to go get some pancakes, I'm starving."

Skittery nods and watches me walk away.

I keep thinking about this feeling in my heart. It's making me distressed and I don't know why.

Racetrack is beside me in the food line.

"Heart aching?" he asks, wisely.

I look at him, in awe. "What? I mean, how did you know?"

He shrugs. "I saw you talking to Skittery, and now you're withdrawn."

I glare at him. I wish he wasn't so knowing.

Racetrack does that half-smile again, almost turning it into a smirk. "Talk to him about it Dutchy. If you don't, I will."

I pour syrup over my pancakes. Racetrack takes a few packets of jam. When I turn to him again, he is gone. Instead, Jade has taken his place.

"Oh, hello," I say, gloomily.

She smiles leisurely. "Hi."

"Are you in History now?" she asks after a while.

I nod. "Yeah."

"Because of Skittery?" she asks softly.

I nod again, nose burning once more.

Again she smiles. "I like Skittery," she says simply.

I stare at her, open-mouthed.

Jade blinks slowly and takes her tray away. I watch her sit down next to Skittery and flip her silky hair over her shoulder smoothly.

I surging feeling leaps from my stomach to my throat. I've only felt it once before, when a boy in my class named Bumlets beat me at the science fair in grade six, which I had worked very hard to get first place on. Specs said I was just jealous of Bumlets because his project was very good.

June 17th, 8:30 am, World History Classroom

This class is very different from the other one. It has desks that are arranged in groups of four. The teacher's name is Mr Seitz. He has a friendly face and whitened hair. He wears all black, black suit pants and a black button down shirt that has white buttons. Even his shoes are black and shiny.

He sits me in a group with three other boys.

"Hi, my name's Dutchy," I tell them.

"Mush," says the one with curly brown hair.

"Kid Blink," says the one with an eye patch.

"Boots," says the one with glasses and beat-up sneakers.

They all smile at the same time.

While Mr Seitz teaches, Mush, Kid Blink and Boots pass notes and doodle in their notebooks. I try to take notes, but the allure of rebellion is much too strong.

Mush and Kid Blink have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, Boots just met them here, but his room is, coincidentally, down the hall from theirs.

"We're in Hall F," says Boots in a whisper.

Mush and Kid Blink nod.

Class goes by quickly. Mr Seitz assigns us a chapter to read by tomorrow and dismisses us. I head for the cafeteria.

Sitting alone at our regular table is Jack, fiddling with his camera and occasionally checking textbooks with complicated formulas and diagrams on every page.

"Afternoon," I say, sitting down with my tray.

Jack grunts a hello.

I watch him for a while, beginning my meal with my apple. I bite into it, slightly disgusted by how mushy it is.

Jack nearly jumps out of his skin when his cell phone rings. He picks it up and I hear the one-sided conversation.

"No, sorry, she's not here. She's still in class…yeah, we're having a good time…yeah…she did…well, you can't expect her to—" Jack stops talking and laughs. "Yeah…OK, see you later Bums." He hangs up.

"Who was that?" I ask, nosily, discarding my apple.

Jack looks up as if he's forgotten I'm here. "Oh, that was Bumlets, my friend. He's dating Jade."

I hope very dearly that the relief doesn't show in my face. She's already dating someone.

I smile happily. "Cool. I like my new class," I say, randomly.

Jack is about to comment when Medda arrives, plunking herself down on a chair between us and making a commotion, as she usually does.

She is, once again, dressed interestingly. Her hair is tied very high up in a ponytail with many clips that resemble butterflies attached haphazardly. She has on a long purple shirt that reaches her mid-thigh and is fastened by the side so it doesn't fall off, with a glittery scrunchy. Under this she is wearing a black skirt that ends promptly at her knees. On her feel she's wearing purple converse shoes with white laces.

"Did you know my professor expects me to design an entire software layout in one week, during class only?" she says loudly.

Jack laughs. "Nice to see you too."

Medda glares at him. Jack grins wider and bats his lashes outrageously. Medda laughs.

Skittery arrives at our table next, carrying a tray with an egg salad sandwich, an apple, a pudding cup, and a tall glass of juice.

He avoids my gaze. When Jade comes he says hello and I feel that thing in my throat again, but am relieved of it by reminding myself that Jade has a boyfriend who misses her.

All I hope is that she misses him too.

June 17th, 6 pm, Jack's Room

Jack and Racetrack are smoking cigarettes unfailingly, dropping the butts into a water-filled coffee mug that reads 'Hawaii is More Fun With a Surf Board'.

"Have you been to Hawaii?" I asked Jack upon seeing it.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, when I was in grade ten, with my friend and his family."

Jack's roommate, David, it sitting at his desk morosely.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke in here," said David once.

Jack had shrugged. "Too bad I'm not a genie Dave!" he said. Then David stopped trying.

"What were your new classes like?" Specs asks Racetrack and I.

"Mine's OK," says Racetrack. "I don't know why I signed up for it anyways. I thought it would be interesting, and it is, but kind of dull too."

Racetrack is doing Sports Medicine.

"Yeah, mine's OK too," I report. "Our teacher doesn't really notice when we talk though, I doubt I'll learn anything."

Jack laughs. "I _know _I won't learn anything."

Specs sighs. Skittery smiles half-heartedly. I watch Skittery. Racetrack's eyes dart between Skittery and I. He shoots me a look. I shake my head discreetly.

Racetrack clears his throat. "Skittery, how do you like Jade?"

Skittery looks taken aback. So did Jack.

"She's OK, nice enough and all," answers Skittery awkwardly.

Jack looks uncomfortable that we are discussing his sister. Specs just looks confused.

"No, do you _like_ her?" asks Racetrack.

"She likes you," I blurt.

Jack looks almost mad now. "Jade has a boy—"

"Jade likes _me_?" asks Skittery, shocked.

Jack tries again. "Jade has a boy—"

"Yeah, she does. She told me this morning," I say, cutting off Jack again.

Skittery looks at me. "No, she doesn't Dutchy. Don't even try it."

Angered, he stands up and leaves the room. I stare after him hopelessly before shooting Racetrack a glare.

"Why don't' you all follow his lead? Clear out of the room," says David suggestively.

"I think I will," I hiss, still glowering at Racetrack. I slam the door behind me.

**End Chapter**

((Uh oh, trouble in paradise! I really have nothing more to say except REVIEW!))

**Shoutouts:**

**Jacky Higgins—**thanks, Race is hard to write and I wouldn't want to write him OOC by accident.

**Erin Go Bragh—**I don't mind your ramblings. I ramble about soccer all the time and people tell me to shut up. I like hearing about other people's extra cirics.

**Madison Square—**you made that scene more light and fluffy than it was.

Charlie:Muse is my Charlie Chaplin muse who was born on the same day as me (April 16th) (not the same year, that would be scary) and my Peter!Muse is my Peter Pan muse.

Peter!Muse: yeah! I'm a muse!

Charils!Muse: are not!

(They fight)

My muses don't like each other much.

**Nakaia Aiden-Sun—**yeah, I know what mangas are. My friend, Killian, is made one in the sixth grade and I was in it! She draws a lot and her pictures are posted up somewhere. There's a link to her site thing in T-R-Us's bio. She's really good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 17th, 8:30 pm, The River

The river moves very smoothly, I decide, watching the water slither effortlessly around the rocks. I waited for half an hour for someone, Racetrack most likely, to come chasing after me. But he didn't. I think my expectations are too high.

However, I can see Skittery. He is sitting a few feet away from me on the riverbank.

Skittery looks very different in the dark. More sullen and more moody and definitely more mature.

We haven't said anything to each other yet, and I don't want to be the first to talk. I am, admittedly, afraid that he will yell at me or, worse, ignore me.

Still, I dare not move away due to the simplicity that I really like being with him. Skittery is the only person I have met that I like to be around no matter what. He is also the only person I really care about getting mad at me. Most people I decide aren't worth it and give up. I can't give up in Skittery. He's so...

"Why did you say that?" he asks suddenly.

My head jerks up and turns to him. I don't answer because my tongue is pressed against the roof of my mouth and my throat is very dry.

"Why did you say that Jade likes me?" he asks, more slowly this time, as if I am remedial.

I blink. "I don't know. Because it's the truth."

Skittery groans and lies back against the hill. "Don't say that. It's not true."

"Why not?" I ask, and then realize it would be best if I had kept my mouth shut.

Too bad you can't retract words. Skittery answers me. "Because, I have no attraction towards her and it's driving me crazy."

I am sure my confusion shows on my face because he continues.

"In case you haven't noticed Dutchy, Jade is pretty...y'know, good looking. And she flirts with me. But I don't like her. I just don't like her."

I shrug and look upwards at the darkening sky, which is a rosy colour with cloudy purples. I think of the last time I was at the river here.

"Do you mind if I try something?" I ask Skittery, just as Racetrack had asked me.

Skittery opens his mouth to answer; I squeeze my eyes shut and plunge in.

Unlike Racetrack I feel very good. Something in my toes begins to tingle, like when your feet fall asleep, only better and lighter.

I open one eye and then the other. Skittery's shocking green ones stare back at me. I pull away.

We stare at each other for a minute, Skittery with a very thoughtful look on his face and me just wondering how long it would be until he launched a fist in my stomach.

He opens his mouth. "I...Dutchy...I..." He leans forward and kisses me again. The feeling in my feet travels. It reaches my knees so they grow weak, voyage to my torso where my stomach produces butterflies, and rests at my head, leaving it dizzy and confused.

Skittery draws away, looking slightly confused, and lies back down again, his chin pointed at the heavens.

I wipe my mouth and gaze back at the river. Once again I dare not speak.

June 18th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room

Specs is sleeping when I am dressed and ready to go. He is snoring softly and tangled up in many blue and white sheets.

I watch him for a while, though not really seeing him. I keep seeing Skittery's very green eyes, staring at me with confusion after he kissed me.

Specs rolls over and grunts loudly. I look at my watch, which tells me there are five minutes until breakfast. I throw a book at Specs.

He sits up extremely quickly and blinks around the brightened room. "What's going on?" he shouts, his voice slightly slurred.

"Get up Specs, and for God's sake, change out of those pants," I say, walking to the door and opening it.

He looks around, sees me, and sniffs loudly.

"Are you drunk?" I ask, stepping out.

He nods happily and falls out of bed. I close the door behind me.

Jack is sitting in the hall, clutching a pack of cigarettes in his hands, and staring at it longingly.

"What's up?" I ask, standing before him.

He sighs melodramatically and stands up. "Just a bit hung over, that's all," he tells me.

I'm sure I look confused, because he takes one look at me and continues.

"Specs, Race and I stayed up most of the night in the courtyard, drinking whisky and rice wine."

"Where'd you get rice wine?" I ask.

"Race had it," says Jack, nonchalantly. "Then a CIT caught us and gave us a warning."

"Oh," I say.

We enter the cafeteria and Jack squints as the bright light meets his eyes.

Jack clears his throat a few times. "Listen," he says awkwardly. "Race is really sorry about jumping on the boat and telling Skittery about that, but you shouldn't go around saying my sister likes a guy when she's got a boyfriend who is one of my good friends."

I want to justify myself and tell him she really does like Skittery, but he's not mad at me and Racetrack has as good as apologized, so I just nod and shrug.

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry about that."

And we get in line for waffles.

June 18th, 7:30 pm, The River

I am once again at the river. I like it. It is very calm and relaxing. Now, however, I am not lying on my back, but my stomach, with my eyes shut and my forehead pressed against the grassy hillside.

A familiar crunching sound comes from the top and in seconds someone sits down beside me. I glance sideways and see Skittery's shoes and his hand, with its long fingers and very short, clean nails resting on the ground.

"Hi," I mutter.

"Hi," he says, and then, "I brought some rum. Racetrack gave it to me."

I want to make a joke about Race being a drunk, but it seems too tense right now to be saying things like that.

I can hear Skittery cracking open the bottle and its contents swishing around inside.

"Want some?" he asks.

I sit up and sit cross-legged, facing Skittery. I take the bottle from his hangs and pour some back. It is smooth and bitter all at the same time. I drink some more.

So does Skittery.

I am beginning to feel slightly giddy and looser. Skittery leans over and rests his head on my shoulder.

"Skittery?" I ask quietly, afraid that if I speak too loud someone will hear, even though there is no one here but us. "Are you gay?"

He mumbles something and kisses me. It is wet and tastes like rum, but I don't mind because it is Skittery.

He puts his head in my lap next, looking upwards at the setting sun, his eyes moving across the horizon slowly.

I wrap one of my fingers in his blondish brown curls and look up too.

We sit like this for quite a while because when I look down at my watch it is already ten to nine. Skittery's eyes have closed and he is breathing evenly. I'm afraid he has fallen asleep like this.

I push a curl off of his brow and smile. His eyes flutter open and he looks at me.

"Dutchy, I..." he trails off and stares up at me.

To the left of the river there is a large patch of trees, which are thick and wild. He stares at them for a while and I don't move. I just stare into the water and allow it to hypnotize me.

Suddenly, Skittery is kissing me again, at first I am surprised so my eyes are open, and I can see his eyelids glistening with sweat. Then I close them and he takes my hand. We stumble around for a while, kissing frantically, before I feel my feet give away and I fall, on my back, into a tangle of branches.

Between the trees is a clearing. It is very fairy tale like, with maple and oak leaves on the ground and an opening on the top. Skittery is drinking out of the bottle, which I realize he hasn't let go of since he came down hours ago.

He begins to take off his shirt.

And I freeze up.

He looks at me. I look at him. Then my eyes travel to the discarded bottle on the forest floor.

"Skittery, don't do this," I say quietly, not believing I actually am.

He is breathless and half-naked. "Do what?" he asks.

I swallow and look away from where my eyes are glued to his chest. "Don't do this. You're drunk."

He laughs and advances towards me. "I'm not drunk Dutchy, I know what I'm doing. Come on, you want this, right?"

Meekly, I nod. I do what this, but not this way. I don't want him to be drunk. I want him to mean it and to want it too. I tell him that.

He pays no heed and grabs my shirt collar, pulling my head towards his, and planting another kiss on my lips. Although I am against this, my hands are drawn to his bare back, working their way up his soft, warm skin.

He tugs at my shirt. I back away and stumble into the outstretched branches of the trees.

"Skittery," I say breathlessly. "I'm sorry, I can't."

I turn and run back to my room. When I get there I throw myself face-down on my bed and cry. Specs is already asleep, so no one hears me.

**End Chapter**

I hope that wasn't too bad. What I meant to portray was Dutchy's romantic inner-self and his distress over Skittery. I hope this didn't make Skittery come off as a bad guy, because that's not what I intended. I meant to make him confuse, like Dutchy. Please review.

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**what instrument do you play? I play(ed) the flute and (try to) play the guitar. If my muses played instruments, Peter would play the flute, Charlie would play the trumpet, Itey would play the oboe, Spitzer would play the trombone, Michael would play the baritone and Tom would play the tuba.

Charlie!Muse: this reminds me somewhat of a drum and fife choir. Only we're worse. And there are no drums.

Spitzer!Muse: (plays weak rendition of 'Don't Rain on my Parade') I love the...this thing.

Peter!Muse: its called a gold thing. Gold is worth lots!

Me: um...I don't think my muses should ever play instruments. Bad things would happen.

**Madison Square—**I just think of it as 'poor boys'. They just can't get anything right. Not in this chapter either, when things were a little messed up.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**I'm not sure this is supposed to make people laugh. Hmm...Romance/Angst. Oh well, Angst always makes me laugh. Angsty, angsty Dutchy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 19th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room

This time Specs was the one who threw a book at me. I think he was waiting until just the right time. This is the first time he's been awake before me.

My face was stuck to the pillowcase and overnight it had become puffy and red. The tears had dried and left an itchy residue on my cheek. I looked like crap.

Specs seemed to notice because when I sat up he apologized quickly and I sunk back down into my blankets. I didn't want to get up. I wanted to stay in bed all day and just sigh melodramatically and listen to very loud, angry music. Except I don't like loud, angry music. I like The Flaming Lips' 'Fight Test' and the occasional song by Eels or The Smiths. Otherwise I would rather not.

Specs heaves himself out of bed and brushes his teeth. He even pulls on a clean pair of jeans obviously and looks at me.

"Get out of bed Dutchy," he says, "you're impossible."

I groan and literally roll out of bed so that I hit the ground. It hurts a lot because I land on my small and scattered collection of CDs, but I'm sure I will have a satisfyingly huge bruise.

I struggle to stand up and I throw my wrinkled sheets over my bed. Then I pull off my shirt and on another one that I find on the ground and pull cords on over the same boxers I was wearing yesterday.

"You're wearing the same underwear?" asks Specs, disbelievingly.

I don't answer because I don't like talking at the moment. I wish I could go back to bed.

My hair is standing up, I can feel it, but I leave it and open the door. I don't see anyone in the hall so I walk to the cafeteria alone. I much prefer to be alone right now anyways.

At our regular table are Jack, Skittery and Isabel. Isabel is slurping her cereal and Jack is once again fiddling with his camera. Skittery has his forehead against the table and doesn't see me. I go right to the food line.

Breakfast is continental today. I hate continental breakfasts, the fruit is always soggy and the toast is always stale. And I hate cereal.

I smother a bagel in cream cheese and shovel a couple of pieces of sad looking cantaloupe onto my plate. Then I walk to our table slowly. When I get there I sit as far from Skittery as possible without looking like I'm obviously avoiding someone.

Skittery isn't moving, I realize after watching him for a few seconds. He has a couple leaves in his hair and a pine needle attached to his shirt. He is wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I don't say anything, I just eat my bagel. Jack doesn't say anything, he just plays with his camera, Skittery doesn't even move, let alone say anything, Isabel clears her throat.

"Morning Dutchy," she says, a rather delayed greeting.

"Hi," I say softly, still looking at Skittery.

"Skittery's hung over," she says quietly, as if not to disturb him. "He won't tell us why, except that it's from rum."

I nod deftly and take another bite of my bagel.

Racetrack arrives, his tray laden down with cereal, fruit, a stack of toast and a large glass of orange juice. "Morning everyone!" he says cheerfully.

"Morning," mutter Jack, Isabel and I. Skittery groans.

Racetrack looks at Skittery, smiling that cocky smile he adapts for times like this, and sets his tray down heavily. "What's up Skitts?' he asks loudly.

Skittery looks up. His face is red and puffy too and his eyes have purple-blue bags under them. He looks artistically distressed. "Shut up Race, I drank the whole bottle of rum."

I want to protest and say that I helped a little, and Skittery even looks at me, as if daring me to do so, but I say nothing.

"You drank the whole damn bottle?" asks Racetrack, incredulously. "Skitts, you're going to get food poisoning or something."

Skittery groans again and covers his eyes.

Jade and Medda arrive at the same time, slightly after Specs. Jade fusses over Skittery and Medda watches them, amused. Jade's blonde hair is rippling as she tosses it around. I really want to cut it off. My mouth grows dry so that I can't even chew the cantaloupe; it just sits on my tongue, turning to mush.

Skittery sits up. "Jade, just leave me alone," he says. Then he looks at me pointedly and stands up slowly. "I'm going to class, see you all later."

Isabel jumps up seconds later. "Oh shit," she hisses. "Just a sec Skittery! Wait up, I'll come with you!" she calls after him.

But he doesn't even pause; he just keeps walking through the doors.

June 19th, 12:00 pm, The Cafeteria

Skittery doesn't show up for lunch, but Isabel does. She tells me that Skittery fell asleep during class because he had 'a headache the size of Texas'.

"Did he really drink a whole bottle of rum?" she asks me.

I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. "He must have."

She believes me.

June 19th, 6:30 pm, The Courtyard

I am in the courtyard by our hall where Skittery and I did our stretches before we went running. I am sitting on a bench here, sketching the building for a cheap memoir. Skittery walks out the front, I assume on his way to dinner.

I don't call out to him because I am deathly afraid that he will never talk to me again and that I shouldn't make things worse.

To my surprise he walks towards me. "Hi Dutchy," he says.

"Hi Skittery," I say.

Se stare at each other stupidly for a few minutes.

He breathes deeply for a few minutes and I don't hear much else.

"I...uh...I want to show you something," he says.

I am taken aback and probably appear hesitant. Skittery, however, begins to walk, as if signalling for me to follow.

We walk into a building that smells like paint and mould, perhaps with a slight after-stench of cigarette smoke. The sign on the front door reads 'Art Department' in creative, curly letters. We walk past the doors to the Art History room and into a hallway. After this we proceed down a flight of stairs and into a large studio, the walls of which are covered in paint and papers that have been stapled there. Skittery stops in front of one of them.

The picture is of a very blonde boy with open blue eyes and his head tilted back slightly. Purple and red blankets surround him and his face is smiling. Below him is a crowd of adoring people, fawning and waiting on him.

We don't say anything. Skittery steps forward and touches the boy's face with the ends of his fingertips and sighs very lightly.

"Who is that?" I ask after a few seconds of prolonged and uncomfortable silence.

Skittery looks at me unnervingly for a while, his eyes dart over my face and he takes his hand from the boy's features.

"There is an ancient myth," he says steadily, "about a young boy. He was the son of a farmer and they had very little to get by and they often went to bed hungry. The boy promised that when he grew up he would never have to work in the fields again.

"When he reached the age of sixteen he arrived at the palace of the king, to offer his services in any way he could. They put him in charge of the King's gardens and it was there that he met a young woman who kept the plots with him. She was horribly scarred on her face, but the young boy fell in love with her because she loved to garden and he saw her as truly beautiful.

"When he was eighteen years old he asked her to marry him and it was then that he found out that she was the eldest daughter of the king, himself. Later, they wed and the boy became the rightful king, therefore inheriting all of the king's land. The king loved the boy because the boy loved his daughter for her soul, not for her face. He was a great ruler and was known in history as The Emperor of the World."

Skittery stops talking abruptly.

"So...what does this have to do with anything?" I ask, sceptically.

"Can't you see it Dutchy?" he asks. "The boy looks just like you."

I look at the painting again. Maybe he resembled me, but surly we didn't look the same.

"One of the art students painted this," says Skittery. "Emperor of the World, he calls it."

And without thinking we lean in and kiss. It just seems right. It is so casual, like we've been doing it forever. Skittery isn't drunk and he is, if I am not mistaken, attempting to be romantic.

I close my eyes and when I open them I can see the sun setting outside the window. It sets the studio in an orange light, making all the paintings seem warmer. The Emperor is still smiling radiantly, glowing in appreciation.

"Let's go back to the dorms," I say, taking Skittery's hand.

Skittery smiles. "OK," he says, lacing his fingers in mine.

My stomach flutters and we walk back up the studio stairs.

**End Chapter**

Phew! The boys made up...and kind of out. Aren't you happy? I sure am! But the story's far from over! I smell plot twists!

Oh yeah, just a fun little note, I got Coin's fanfiction author of the moment! That made me feel so warm and fuzzy! Who knew that my time killing hobby would be so appreciated?

**Shoutouts:**

**Nakaia Aiden-Sun—**I think everyone prefers to laugh.

Charile!Muse: I prefer to make people cry. Does that count?

Me: habe you been bullying the others again?

Charile!Muse: no.

All Others: yes!

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon—**welcome back Mush, glad to see you got over your terrible flu. Awful stuff, the flu.

Itey!Muse: I haven't ever had the flu. What's it like?

Tom!Muse: not good.

Spitzer!Muse: how do you know? You're Superman, for God's sake!

I hope I updated fast enough!

**Madison Square—**yeah, it's a great running line, isn't it? When I was supposed to be doing my homework today I was. I also checked fanfiction and my emails. Shh, don't tell!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

June 20th, 7:30 am, Specs's and My Room

My sheets are miraculously warm. I can't believe that just twenty-four hours ago I was waking up with dried tears on my face. Now if feel refreshed and exhilarated. I jump out of the bed quickly and wake Specs.

I change into brand new clothes, clean from the wash, and brush my teeth quickly. I brush my hair down against my head and put my glasses on.

Someone knocks on the door.

I walk over to it and open it quickly, sending it flying backwards swiftly, knocking it on the wall. Skittery is standing there, looking bashful, but also a bit amused.

"Oh, hi. Good morning," I say.

"Morning," he says, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I was thinking we could walk to breakfast together?"

Barely able to contain myself, I nod and grab my backpack, hoist it on my back, and shut the door behind me.

We walk down the hall in awkward silence. I struggle with my backpack, which is sitting unevenly on my shoulders. I teeter to the side and Skittery grabs my hand before I fall. I stare at his hand, grasping mine, and so does he. When I stand up properly he keeps his hand there.

I shoot glances at it as we walk down the hall. Slowly I shift it so that our palms are touching. Skittery laces his fingers into mine.

The cafeteria is filling steadily. I see Jack at the table. He always seems to be the first one to get to breakfast. We sit down and Jack looks up. He stares at our hands, their digits still interlocked and resting on the table, and then to our faces.

"What's up?" he asks, showing no sign of surprise in his voice.

Skittery brushes his thumb over my knuckles and my spine shivers.

"Nothing," I say.

"Nothing," says Skittery.

"Nothing?" says Jack, raising his eyebrows.

I blush and Skittery fixes Jack with a mild gaze. "Yeah," he says. "How about you?"

Jack's eyes linger on our hands before clearing his throat and continuing. "Yeah, I'm doing OK. I've got a portfolio due later this week. Do you mind if I take a picture of you guys?" he asks.

I stiffen. Skittery smiles. "Sure," he says.

Instead of fixing the camera on our faces, Jack turns it to our hands. He hits the button a few times and resurfaces from behind the Canon.

"This is very artistic," he says, pleased with his work, beaming lovingly at his camera.

I furrow my brow. "Why?" I ask.

"Because, look at your hands," demands Jack.

I do. They just look like hands. Intertwined, slightly pink and calloused, knuckles bent slightly, white bones bending with the joints, making them shiny and white.

"Whose hands are they?" he asks.

I look up at him like he's crazy. Skittery doesn't say anything. "Mine and Skittery's," I say obviously.

Jack smiles victoriously. "But, if you didn't know they were yours, whose would you think they were?" he asks.

I shrug. They're just hands.

'They could be anyone's hands," answers Jack to his own question. "Anyone's at all. You could both be boys, girls, one of each. And think that I'm developing this in black and white, you wouldn't have a race."

I look at my hand again. Does he really see this when he looks at our hands?

Skittery grins. Racetrack arrives, shoots me a look, which includes a smirk, and sets his tray down, laden down with French toast and orange slices. My stomach growls ravenously. I stand up, leaving Skittery's hand, alone, on the tabletop.

"I'm starving," I say, walking towards the food line. Skittery follows me.

When we get there I place my arm around his waist, and he places his over my shoulders. We get a few looks from the cheerleader girls, including some directed at Skittery that look disappointed.

Medda, Specs and Isabel are shortly behind us in line. Jade is nowhere to be seen, not that I mind, exactly.

June 25th, 3:30 pm, Siegel Institute Library

It has been five days since Skittery and I officially 'came out'. Medda thinks it's cute. Racetrack thinks it's 'destiny' and Jade hasn't noticed.

"Tomorrow's parent's night," Specs reminds us.

My parents won't be coming, I tell everyone. Neither are Racetrack's. But everyone else's are.

"Where would they all stay?" I ask.

Medda shrugs. "I have no idea," she admits. "My parents are divorced anyways, so I hope they don't expect them to share rooms."

Medda hasn't stopped smoking, though she says she's considering taking Jack up on his offer to buy her nicotine patches.

Skittery and I are currently sitting in the library. It is two whole stories, larger than the auditorium where we had the welcoming speech and 'ceremony'. There is a staircase right up the middle and books on every single shelf. There is every book in the world in here. Times two.

Skittery has a heavy textbook titled 'VanGogh and His Works' and I have one that has a painting of some epic battle on the cover and the scrawling words 'World History, Revised'.

"How can history be revised?" I ask pointedly.

Skittery shrugs and follows the words across the paper with his pencil.

"No really," I say, "how can it be? History can't be changed."

Skittery looks up and smiles. He chuckles and leans forward, his lips meeting my forehead. "Dutchy," he says with a sigh of amusement. "I can't believe you even care."

I smile too and take his hand. We turn back to our work.

In 1812 the French...

"Excuse me boys," the librarian is standing above us. She thrusts a piece of paper under our noses.

_Public Displays of Affection_ reads the heading.

"Please fill this out," she says.

I reach for a pen.

_Name, Parent(s) name, Telephone number, Class, Dorm and Dorm Room, Time, Date, Place of Inappropriate—_

"What the hell is this?" hisses Skittery.

"I don't know," I say, turning the page over in my hands.

I glance up at the librarian. She sees me.

"Do you not understand the form?" she asks loudly, bustling over.

"I understand the form perfectly well you old—"

I clear my throat, cutting Skittery off. "No, I was just wondering what we did to get this."

She smiles demonically. "You boys were kissing," she says as if we had just killed a small animal: with contempt and disgust dripping from her voice.

"But what's with the fucking form?" asks Skittery forcefully.

The librarian grins wider. "We need your personal information so you can be put on file. We also will be contacting your parents."

All the fighting in Skittery's eyes disappears. His hand falls limp. He turns to the page and begins to fill it in.

June 26th, Dorm D, Main Hallway, 5:30 pm

I can hear only the one-sided telephone station.

It's Skittery talking to his mom.

"So, you're not coming?...OK, I guess...no, mom, I didn't...it's not...you don't know anything about him...damn the church! I don't give a...you didn't have to not come though, at least...you can't," an emptiness appears on Skittery's face. He places the receiver back on the cradle.

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his body. He tenses. I look up at his face, which is streaked with tears.

She shrugs me off. "Leave me alone Dutchy," he says.

I step backwards. "What's wrong?" I ask softly.

"Just leave me the hell alone. They've kicked me out."

I don't know what to say. Skittery glares at me reproachingly.

"Skittery, I didn't know. How would I—"

"Just leave me alone Dutchy," he hisses, "you've helped enough."

He tears have stopped. Skittery is standing very firm before me, filled with rage. I back away.

"I really didn't mean to," I say quietly, though I am not sure he can hear me.

As I turn to go I swear I see a falter in Skittery's angry gaze, but when I glance over my shoulder it is still there, glinting and spiteful.

My heart aches.

June 16th, Specs's and My Room, 8:00 pm

Fight Test by the Flaming Lips plays over and over in my head.

"Thought I was wrong, thought I was right, thought it better not to fight, I thought there was a virtue in always staying cool..."

And I begin to think. If maybe I hadn't stayed 'cool' maybe Skittery wouldn't have let me walk away. Maybe if I had told him it wasn't our fault, that we could make things work, move somewhere together.

But who am I kidding? I'm only sixteen.

Specs is still at parent's night. So is most of the hall, so it's very quiet in my room. I wonder what Skittery is doing.

No. I don't.

I don't think about Skittery. I don't want to. But I can't help it.

His hair, his hands, entwined in mine, his green eyes, his chest as it rises and falls...

Someone knocks on my door. I don't want to get up, but at the slim chance it might be Skittery, I do.

It's Racetrack.

"Hey," he says, coming in and sitting down on Specs' bed.

"Hullo," I say.

"This is Spot," he introduces the boy bedside him.

Spot has short blonde hair and blue eyes. He is wearing a blue shirt that reads 'Graduating Class of '98' on it in yellow suede writing. He is wearing jeans with a brown belt and is chewing gum.

"Oh, hi," I say. "Nice to meet you."

Racetrack smiles. "So, where's Skittery?" he winks. My stomach flops.

"He dumped me," I say.

Racetrack's face falls. Spot stops chewing his gum.

"Are you serious?" asks Racetrack, concerned. "When?"

"Just this afternoon," I lay down on my bed and clamp my eyes shut.

"Though I was wrong, thought I was..."

"Why'd he dump you?" comes a heavily accented voice. It's Spot.

I tell them the story. The librarian. The phone call. Parents' night.

Spot smiles despite my anguish. I want to hit him.

"Man will do more for something he wants, than for something he needs," he says. I don't understand. Spot continues. "That means that Skittery wants his family's support and love—"

This isn't very reassuring. I frown.

"—but that doesn't mean there isn't something he wants more. If he really loves you, then that love will be stronger than the love for family. He chose you, he couldn't choose them."

Racetrack smiles. "See how great he is?" he says.

Spot blushes.

I close my eyes again and hope that Skittery does love me.

**End Part One**

OK, 'End Part One' just means that there will be a big gap between this chapter and the next one. (This was June 26th, the next might be somewhere in July). Just so no one's confused.

Also, I am very, very sorry that it took me so long to update! I hope this was a significant chapter and made up for the slow update! Please review!!!

**Shoutouts:**

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**so, you're a stalker, eh? Intrubing...

Charlie!Muse: no, it's creepy.

Me: not, she loves him. It's not.

Charlie!Muse: So, I love bowler hats and I don't stalk them.

Me: it's different. You're not allowed to talk anymore.

Charlie!Muse: (sticks out tongue)

Me: yeah, that's mature.

**Madison Square—**oops. Just when I got a review saying that I update quickly I don't update for a long time. It's totally my fault, I have had homework by the barrels and haven't been able to even write this chapter!

However, I am glad my chapter made you happy and non-bitchy.

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon—**aw! That's sad! I hope the boys make up soon! It's not good when the boys are mad at each other.

Well, not my boys. My muses are never really good with each other. At least, not Charlie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

July 20th, Specs's and My Room, 3:30 pm

We don't talk anymore. Skittery and I. We just keep quiet and civil.

Specs says I spend too much time in my room. So do Racetrack and Jack. I don't want to leave because I'm afraid that I will run into him. I don't want to make painful chitchat, so I avoid him.

Usually I only see him during meals. He runs on Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays so I don't run on those days. It's that simple.

I also avoid the river and the studio. What if he's there? Is he thinking about me too? I try not to wonder about that. I try to just get by thinking about things that really matter. Class. My parents. My sketches.

My sketchbook is full. I don't have any more pages and I have to buy a new one from the tuck shop. The current book is filled with unfinished drawings. I have thought many times of throwing it out, but decided against it. I find myself staring at the sketch of the river I made from my room that early morning. The one that I improvised Skittery and I into. I also have a picture of him smiling. And another of us racing up the hill, as I imagine we must have looked. They hurt me to look at. But I like the hurt; it proves that I am still human.

Getting dumped happens to everybody. The aching feeling happens to everybody. Everyone plans the days he runs around the days his ex does, just so that he'll never have to see him again and he'll never have to be reminded about how deep and how fresh the wound is.

"Dutchy, we need to get you out of this room," says Specs, putting down his textbook and stretching his arms above his head.

I look at him from my sketchbook's last page, which I am filling with a dark drawing of a bicycle, which has its wheel popped and it's handlebar-streamers billowing menacingly in the wind. The ground is charcoal and the sky is grey from the graphite. Lead kills.

"I don't want to," I say gloomily, wiping my nose and picking up a softer lead.

"Dutchy," says Specs warningly, pulling the curtains apart, "you need to get out. You're in here all day."

I don't look up. "I am not. I go to class and eat three meals at the caf. And I go for runs."

Specs doesn't answer. He leaves the room, the door still ajar. I let it be. It's hanging open like my soul. God, I'm so melodramatic lately. It's awful.

I can hear voices in the hallway. In seconds Jack has entered. Wordlessly he and Specs lift me from the bed and carry me to the hall. Specs shuts the door behind him triumphantly. I am still clutching my sketchbook and a H6 pencil. I catch sight of myself in a window. There is lead smeared all over my nose.

"I like your sketch," says Jack conversationally. I glance down. The book is open to the picture of the tennis courts, which are unfinished, but boast half a person playing against another. I shrug and shut it.

"No, really," says Jack, as if I was being modest and protested to his compliments. "I can't draw to save my life. That's why I take pictures. It hides my lack of artistic ability."

"I do things like Business Marketing and History to avoid having to be artistic. It's hell. You just hold on to things you want to forget."

The optimistic smile droops from Jack's face.

"Then why are you taking History?" asks Specs pointedly. "The whole point of the course is reliving the past. Clinging to extinct empires and vanished battles."

I hate Specs. I really do. He's smart and wise. He seems to know the perfect answer to everything. I hate it.

"I'm a hypocrite, OK?" I say haughtily. I clutch my sketchbook to my chest and keep walking. I'm not sure where we're going.

It's been a long time since I've just walked. Just walked around aimlessly.

It's really hot out. There are people playing Frisbee and girls sun tanning in bikinis. Specs and Jack pretend not to be watching, but I know they are. I'm not stupid.

Something about them being so carefree, so able to look at someone like that, drives jealousy through me. I clench my jaw shut and keep walking aimlessly.

"So," says Specs after a while. "Where are we going?"

I shrug.

Jack looks around. "Wanna go play volleyball?" he asks thoughtfully.

No one answers, but we walk to the courts anyways.

The ground is smeared with thick, dark sand. It is cool on my bare feet and cradles them tightly. The nets are high, strung through with green rope and yellow ties. There is no one else here and the sun has disappeared momentarily, leaving us in a stupor of surrealism and serenity.

Jack finds a volleyball lying in the corner of a court, throws it in the air a few times, and walks over to us.

"Who's up for a game?" he asks sportingly.

I sit down by the post of the net. Jack throws the ball at me.

"It wasn't a question," he says, "let's play Dutchy, you and me."

I look at him pleadingly, begging him not to put me through this. He turns his back and takes his place on the base line. I sigh and fall into position.

Specs stands at the post, pretending to ref, using his hands as scoreboards. Jack serves.

It is high and arching, the white ball soaring smoothly above me. I reach to it.

Slam!

It lands inside the line, Jack diving to reach it, missing only barely.

"Your serve," he says, tossing the fallen ball over to me.

I toss it up, extending from my waist, swinging around and hitting it on the side.

Slam!

It hits centre court, rolling along the sand slowly, leaving a small ravine in its wake.

Specs' fingers display the score. Two—zero.

Jack tosses the ball back.

I serve. He returns. A high volley, above my head, an easy shot. I smash it back; Jack dives and saves it, sending it flying to my far left. I am airborne, the sand splaying out around my ankles. My chest hits the ground. Then my knees. Last, my chin.

The ball hits and rolls off court.

I toss it to Jack. We're serious. There's no game banter, no taunting or joking. Just straight faces and tense moves.

He serves. A slow one again. Easy, why is he serving so easy?

I hit it back with little effort. He returns. I return. We keep up our volley until I am tired of it and slam the ball into the Jack tumbles, somersaulting to reach it.

Despite myself, I smile weakly.

Jack laughs. Specs laughs.

The sun comes out, basking the court in light, displaying every cranny of it and covering my half in shadows.

"Do you play volleyball, Dutchy?" Jack asks me.

I nod. "Not anymore though. Only for a while."

Jack wipes his sandy hands on his shorts. "Oh." He throws me the ball.

July 20th, The Volleyball Courts, 6:00 pm

We haven't left yet. The sun is tilting towards the ground, drunkenly promising dusk.

"Thanks guys," I say softly, rubbing the sand off my arms.

"Any time," says Jack, taking his shoes in his hands and stepping off the courts.

"Yeah," Specs grins, "no problem."

We walk towards the caf. There is an emptiness in my stomach, but not from hunger.

"I'm not too hungry right now," I say. "I'm going to get an early rest."

I can see Medda and Isabel entering through the main doors.

Jack and Specs shrug, obviously uncaring; at least they got me outside today.

The doors of the hall are heavy. Inside, the rooms are quiet and still. I turn the key in my lock when I hear a sound coming from down the corridor.

I look up and spot them. Jade and Skittery. Their hands are clenched together and they are smiling. Both of them. Yes, Skittery too.

I stare for a few seconds, my throat clenching tightly. Jade doesn't see me, but Skittery does. I look away, fumbling with the door handle, blinking away tears that are blurring my vision. I can see them in the corner of my eye, Jade kissing Skittery on the cheek. The door swings open and I step inside, slamming it behind me.

I sink to the floor and, after a minute of silence, welcome the tears.

**End Chapter  
**

Another sad chapter, know. I'm sorry, but Dutchy's going through a bad time, so you must too!

Now! Review and I'll do the shoutouts!

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**I hope your mom's birthday dinner was nice! Also—

Peter!Muse: did you being me any food?

Me: Peter, that's a little forward, isn't it?

Peter!Muse: why would it be? I'm hungry!!!

Tom!Muse: don't worry! I'll get you some food! Tom saves the day! Again! (runs into wall)

Me: Charlie, have you been slipping Tom some bourbon again?

Charlie!Muse: (hiding bottle) no...not at all!

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon—**I did! I think...I hope so. I remember saying 'yes, I think I will go read and review her story'. I can't remember. I have bad memory. Though not all of the time. Usually it's very good.

OK, I'll stop now. I'm confusing myself.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**dresstard. Interesting. Great word. Anyways, I hope you fit this formal dress of yours. It sounds stubborn.

Also, hopefully you see this guy who's going to Texas occasionally. It would be nice and then you wouldn't be all strange and insane.

**Madison Square—**I'm not sure why he's graduating class of '98. It was just a good year, I'm thinking. Or...nah. He couldn't have graduated from elementary school then he would be too old.

Yes, Jack is seksay. So is Spot. Yes, and all others. Gotta love the boys!

Also, Skittery's parents kicked him out because of the church. I know it only came around in passing (the telephone conversation), but I'll go more into that later.

**T-R-Us—**though I'm sure you'll never review again, and you think 'Dutchy and Skittery are stupid together', I'm obliged to give you a shoutout.

That was it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

July 25th, Siegel Institute Library, 9:00 pm

I dare not sit at that table. Just being here makes me want to cry. This is the place where we got caught for absolutely nothing. If I clamp my eyes shut I can see Skittery and I sitting at the table across from me, holding hands and trying to study.

It's hard to get any work done at all. My History textbook lies open, begging me to study. But I can't. I can't let myself; it's too hard to let go.

I know it's pathetic. It's not like we _loved_ each other, right? Sure, I cared for Skittery, but I'm only sixteen.

_Napoleon sailed from Spain to…_

The librarian is watching me. I can feel her eyes like fire on my neck, as if daring me to do something to get kicked out again. I won't do anything. I won't look up and I won't breathe too loudly. I'll pretend I don't exist. Skittery can do it, so I think I can too. Why not? Look how quickly he moved on, it's like magic, like he just pushed a button and we never were.

Suddenly Racetrack I sitting beside me. We spend a lot of time together now; I think he feels bad for me.

"What's up?" he whispers.

I shrug and squint at the miniscule text. Who the hell cares about Napoleon? He was alive hundreds of years ago. Right now he doesn't matter to me. Except that I want to pass my test.

"Studying?" he asks, equally as quiet as before. The librarian glares.

I nod. "Yeah, I'm trying."

Racetrack grabs my arm and pulls me up. "Let's go," he hisses.

I'm not sure what's going on. I dump my books in my bag haphazardly and follow him out of the library.

We step into the wilderness. Dusk is inching closer, filling the sky with a smoky purple colour. We don't say anything. I still don't know what's going on.

"Dutchy, Specs, Jack and I, we've been talking," says Racetrack after a minute.

I draw my breath in. They've been talking about me. About how pathetic I am, not leaving the room and not conversing with Skittery. Not that he's even really tried talking to me. I think he's guilty. That's something, at least.

"About what?" My voice comes out softly, as if anticipating the worst.

"About Skittery, he's been hanging around with Jack a lot. Jack thinks he's asking weird." He shoots a look in my direction.

"So?" I ask, kicking a pinecone ahead of me.

"We think it's Jade. Spot and I, we don't think he really _likes_ Jade."

I can't believe this. "Hold on," I gasp, "back up, you talk to your boyfriend—who I know is very nice, but who I've only met once—about me and _my_ problems?"

Racetrack ignores me and continues. "We think he's still stuck up on you. And of course it's all because his dad's a minister and his parents won't let—"

"His dad is a _minister_—" I gasp next.

Once again, no answer.

"—him do anything about that. I mean, come one, they're _Christian_, it's not exactly like their religion is open to that or anything. So we think they're afraid that he'll bring shame on the family or something. So Jack thinks he's just going to drop Jade when he's sure everything's OK and he doesn't want Jade getting hurt."

I hadn't thought about this before. But that's probably because I didn't know how religious Skittery's family is. Wait, Skittery's real name is Christopher. Christopher, Christian. And he hates his name.

I realize Racetrack has stopped talking. I look at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You have to win him back!" declares Racetrack happily. "Tell him how you feel. Get in his pants again!" He snickers at this last part.

I gawk for a moment. "For your information, I have never been in Skittery's _pants_!" I can't help thinking 'too bad'. I blush. "Besides, he's made it clear that he doesn't want me anyways."

"A prediction is never as sure as a fact," says Racetrack nonchalantly.

I know what he means saying this. I'll never know how we could be if I don't even try. At least I can say I tried, that I struggled. At least I can get some sort of satisfaction in knowing that he didn't leave me because of his family, but because of how _he_ felt.

_Man will do more for what he wants than for what he needs…_

Does Skittery _really_ want me?

July 26th, The Cafeteria, 12:00 pm

How am I going to do this? Just begin talking to him like nothing's wrong? How can I do that?

"Skittery, hi," I say as he sits down. My voice quavers. I swallow.

He looks confused. He stares for a minute, studying my face. I get that lurching feeling again.

"Yeah, hi," he says, "are you OK?"

But I hear _Are we OK?_

I nod. "Yeah, I wasn't feeling to well. A bit of a headache. But I'm better now."

"That's good, I'm glad you're better. Hope you didn't miss any class, did you?"

_I'm glad. You didn't worry about it too much did you?_

"Nah, it's OK. Never—"

Racetrack is watching me.

"—been better."

Skittery begins eating. Jade waltzes over and sits beside him. "Good afternoon!" she sings. My stomach drops to my feet, dragging on the ground.

Her hand goes to Skittery's. Discreetly he shoots me a look. I pretend not to notice. Jack swallows.

Isabel sits across from us, along with Medda. They are oblivious to anything going on. Medda groans in her Medda-like way.

"I just had an exam. Killer!" she stabs her salad with a fork.

Isabel takes a long slurp from her soft drink and sighs. "I am so hungry."

No one answers; they look around, confused.

"What's going on?" asks Isabel cautiously.

Jack looks around. "I—"

But his explanation is interrupted by Specs flinging himself on the bench. His tray skids a few feet, but he doesn't notice. He brings his head to the table roughly and rests it there.

"'Sup Specs?" asks Medda, shoving a leafy lettuce stalk into her mouth.

Specs shrugs and mumbles something indeterminable. I give up and open my sketchbook; it's obvious that I'm not going to get anything across.

Racetrack kicks me hard in the shin. My head jerks up. He looks at Skittery pointedly. I give up. "I'm going to my room," I say. Racetrack moans. Jack looks scared. I can't see Specs' face. Medda and Isabel look confused. Jade looks indifferent. I try not to look at Skittery's face; I'm afraid of what I might see.

I rush to the exit and swing the heavy door open.

Something inside of me pushes me forward, making me stumble. I fight back tears that sting my nose and burn my vision. My throat aches, forming a giant lump that threatens to explode. I trip and fall forward, my hands break my fall.

I can only hear the sounds of the cafeteria. Loud, happy sounds. Why did I try?

Nostalgia overtakes me, catching up with my consciousness, drowning out my thoughts.

_And without thinking we kiss. It just seems right._

I can feel the sun on my face. Just like when we kissed in the studio. I can feel his hand on my arm, the light on my eyelids, making them red and see-through.

_They just look like hands. Intertwined, slightly pink and calloused, knuckles bent slightly, white bones bending with the joints, making them shiny and white._

I feel the joyful embarrassment. I hear Jack's camera, clicking repetitively and Skittery's hand squeezing mine tighter.

_Skittery looks up and smiles. He chuckles and leans forward, his lips meeting my forehead. "Dutchy," he says with a sigh of amusement. "I can't believe you even care."_

I feel youthful, young and childlike. I feel handsome and witty, but tiny and stupefied. Skittery's smile and his mouth on my forehead. My hand travels there, lingering at the spot as if I can still feel it. But I can't.

I stand up. Tomorrow I will try again. Skittery loves me. He _wants _me. I know it.

**End Chapter**

((Who loves Determined!Dutchy? Every hand in the house should be raised, otherwise…(shakes fist) OK, please review and I'm very sorry to take so long updating. School is catching up with me! Ahhhh! It's back!!! (runs away)

Charlie!Muse: oooook…I'm in charge now. You get your shoutouts from ME!))

**Shoutouts:** (Special guest…Charlie!!!)

**Nakaia Aiden-Sun—**Yes. I think some good ass-kicking will do…

Peter!Muse: that's not good Charlie, people could get hurt!

Charlie!Muse: this coming from the guy who chopped off someone's hand a fed it to a crocodile? Puh-lese!

Tom!Muse: (mumbling) I _would_ have saved him. But I don't know what the hell the Jolly Roger is!

Charlie!Muse: go play with your First Aid kit, I need to finish these reviews. Geez, you guys should just GET OUT OF MY HAIR!!! Oh, and way to ask out that guy.

Michael!Muse: that's what I would have done!

**Erin Go Bragh—**wow. Have you taken your pills?

Tom!Muse: Pills? I have pills!

Spitzer!Muse: What. A. Druggie.

Michael!Muse: yeah, but he's hot!

Both: mmmmm…

Charlie!Muse: shutup you lust-filled drama freaks!!! The world is INSANE!!!

**Madison Square—**cryptic, eh? Interesting…does crypt include death? Like…Tales of the Cryptkeeper or whatever? That guy is AWESOME!

Itey!Muse: that guy gave me nightmares!

Charlie!Muse: suck it up. I'm only ten and I can take it. Wuss.

Tom!Muse: I have anti-sad pills! Here! (flexes muscles in process)

Michael/Spitzer!Muse: (sigh)

Charlie!Muse: just thought I'd get it across, flowy language SUCKS! I'm never in the shoutouts for those because it's too serious.

**Jacky Higgins—**did you really cry? Wow…

Tom!Muse: never fear! I have tissues!!!

Charlie!Muse: (shoves Tom in a closet)

Spitzer!Muse: YES! Now he can come out!!! (High-fives Michael!Muse)

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon—**your story isn't up, we all checked. I think something's wrong.

Peter!Muse: Buttons doesn't make promises she can't keep. Well, not too often…

Michael!Muse: (tries to pry door off the closet)

**OK, now that that's over. Never again will my Charlie!Muse do the shoutouts. NEVER! If he insulted you, please ignore him. He usually is anyways.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, or and other media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World **

July 27th, World History Classroom, 10:45 am

I got a new sketchbook. It is dark green and has thick manila pages. The first sketch I did was of nothing special, just my books sitting on my desk. The second was even less inspiring, just a toothbrush floating in space. But these are just warm-ups, I had to break the book in.

I have begun to draw a face. I am using Mush's—who is sitting across from me—face as a template, but I am adding in different features. And for once they're not Skittery's. They're someone else's eyes, nose and mouth. I dip in the forehead, a round awareness in the eye.

I saw Skittery at breakfast. He was sitting with Jade, but looking very uncomfortable. I talked to both of them and Jack looked happy. Medda and Isabel must have been filled in on the plan, because they didn't look the least bit confused. Then again, neither did Jade, but I never thought of her to be the observant type.

Skittery, to avoid being rude, made chit chat with me. About what? I can't remember. Probably class or something. Jade kept jumping in and making my blood boil by running her hands through his hair, or resting her chin on his shoulder.

"What are you drawing," asks Kid Blink suddenly. I look up and then back down again.

"Oh, nothing," I have forgotten that I am drawing at all, just caught up in the struggle.

Kid Blink looks at the sketchbook anyways and smiles. "Who is it?" he asks.

I shrug. "I don't know," I say because really, I don't.

July 27th, The Courtyard, 3:30 pm

Out side it is very sunny. The ground is forever covered in pine needles and acorns. They let out an awakening smell that jerks to your throat and that pulls your eyes open.

I am sitting right in the middle of the courtyard with my legs crossed and my sketchbook spread open on my lap. My eyes are closed and I hold my pencil loose in my hand. It begins to draw.

This is something that an art teacher I had taught me. Just imagine the lines, don't look at the page.

When I am done there is a blob with two attempts at eyes and a mess of what I assume was hair. I turn the page over and try again.

This time it's better, a little clearer and more refined to one spot. An acorn scurries across the ground and hits my back. I swivel to face the kicker.

It's Skittery.

"Hi," he says, attempting a smile.

"Hi," I say back, putting on a cheerful voice and a grin.

I close my eyes again and try to sketch.

"Listen," says Skittery to my turned back. "I broke up with Jade."

I try to keep them closed, but my eyes fly open anyways. "What?"

"I broke up—"

"I know," I turn to face him. "But why?"

Skittery shrugs, his hands in his pockets. "Because I don't like her and I don't want to hurt her. We don't even really talk about anything. It's boring."

"Really? Nothing?" I ask.

He nods. "Well, she told me I'm a 'hottie' a lot, but she also said that the lunch was sexy and that doing homework is hot."

"Well," I said, a grin playing on my lips. "She was right about the you being a hottie thing. You are, you know?"

Skittery doesn't answer. He bites his lip and sighs.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I'm just here to tell you that we've broken up, but that doesn't mean I'm 'available' again."

My hopes, which had reached an all-time high just seconds ago, drop to my feet.

"Oh, OK," I croak, "I understand."

But I don't. This has to work! He's not with her so he should be with me. Or am I going about this too simply?

July 27th, The Cafeteria, 9:30 pm

Everyone has left the table except for Jade and I. It is late, so the cafeteria is nearly empty, just a few kids studying and such.

After a few minutes of staring blankly at my textbook, I decide that it is safe to pack up and leave. I snap my book shut and begin to shove it in my bag.

Jade sniffs loudly.

Usually I wouldn't care, but Skittery just broke up with her and I can relate.

"Are you OK?" I ask, "Allergies or something?"

She sniffs again and tilts her head up. "I don't have allergies," she snaps. Her face is covered in shimmering tears. She swings her hair around to cover them.

I shrug. "Sorry."

"I'm sure you know," she says testily, "that Skittery has broken up with me."

"Um...sorry," I say again. I sit back down across from her and put my bag by my feet.

"And it's all your fault," she accuses tearily, "you turning him into a fucking gay."

Momentarily I am taken aback.

"Hold on," I say, "I'm not gay and neither is Skittery. We're bisexual."

Jade laughs bitterly. "You turned him. you gay bastard. What you do isn't natural," her hari falls over her face by accident this time, she pushes it back. "It's not 'Adam and Adam' in the bible, it's 'Adam and Eve'. Skittery believed that, how couldn't he? His father is a goddamned minister! You ruined him!"

"I didn't ruin him!" I retort, aggravated.

"Yes," she begins to shoulder her backpack sloppily, "you did, and I couldn't change him back."

"Stop trying to fix something that isn't broken!" I yell.

Jade stands up, stumbles a bit, and begins to walk away. "By the way," she calls over her shoulder, "there's no such thing as bisexuality!"

She jerks the door open and it slams hollowly behind her.

What few people there are in the cafeteria are all staring at me. I sigh and close my eyes.

**End Chapter**

((Oh! I'm so, so, so sorry for not updating! I can't get online!!! In fact, I'm not even updating this! My good friend Almatari is! Everyone give her a round of applause. Good. I'm sorry, really.

I won't be able to do shoutouts because (as stated before) I can't get online). I will give little comments to my regular reviewers, but they will be just a list of names of people. That's all.))

**Shoutouts:**

**Nakaia Aiden-Sun**

**Erin Go Bragh**

**Madison Square**

**Jacky Higgins**

**Eagle Higgins-Conlon**

I don't know who said it to my Tom!Muse, something about meds that stuck in my head, but he managed to get a hold of a whole pharmacy stash. How? I'm still not sure.

I apologize to anyone who review that I missed! I couldn't access the reviewers! So, so sorry!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **_(is currently lost. If you must read it, go to any chapter before)_

**Emperor of the World**

a/n: I am writing this in class. Yes. Class.

July 28th, World History Classroom, 10:00 am

The teacher is saying something about an exam. I really hate exams. I cram and cram, but as soon as the page is in front of me everything evaporates and my mind is blank. Like there was actually never anything there at all.

Mush and Blink are playing hockey with a crumpled up piece of paper and using their hands as goals. When one of them scores he lets out a triumphant cry that sends the entire class looking our way. Eventually our teacher tells them to stop.

My sketchbook is still only barely full. The picture of the person is finished. He is a boy, about our age. He has medium eyes and dark hair. His skin is fair and his cheeks are hallowed. He is squinting upwards, like there is somethigjust out of reach that the viewer can't see, but wishes they could.

"Nice picture," Racetrack had said upon seeing it.

I shrugged. "I guess."

I'm not in a complementing mood. I don't want to be told I'm doing well, because obviously I'm doing something wrong. Skittery doesn't like me. Hell, he probably hates me. And Jade is running around screeching about bisexuality and the fact that it doesn't exist.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I've just been a closet gay all my damn life.

Boots' elbow bumps mine. "Sorry," he mutters, not pausing in his note-taking.

I open the sketchbook to a fresh page and look around the class. There is nothing to draw so I delve into my mind and try to break something out. I try very hard to think of something, anything that would be the least bit intereting. But I can't. There is nothing there. It is empty and foreign to me. I'm not used to be stuck for ideas. My mind has always acted like a well, one that sprouted and gave off millions of revelations.

The page is blank. It sits on my lap, tauntingly. I wish I had back my creativity. I wish I had back Skittery. Nothign is working out for me.

July 28th, The Cafeteria, 12:30 pm

When I see Jade again it is lunch time. We don't look at each other and she doesn't say anything about what happened the other night. She is eating salad with Italian dressing on it. I am eating a hamburger. Skittery isn't.

He is watching us. It's as if he knows, but then again, he always does. He seems to be able to tell what is going on without any questions and little observation. Skittery has a detector that can pick up our every thought and register it.

Medda sits down, grinning. "Guess what?" she squeals and, without waiting for an answer, continues, "There's an end of camp dance! Can you believe that there's only one week left?"

She looks sad. So does Isabel. Jade, as always, is indifferent and the guys attempt to lookconcerned.

"So, are you all going?" asks Medda after a while.

Racetrack shrugs. "I don't know. I wouldn't have anyone to go with."

I look at Skittery and he is looking at me.

Very quickly we look away.

**End Chapter**

Yeah, short, I know. I wrote it during class and am now finished. Once again I can't give shoutouts because I don't have time. Sorry!


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **something, something, something, Empress, something, don't own, la la la

**Emperor of the World**

July 30th, Specs' and My Room, 4:00 pm

Someone is knocking on our door. Loudly. Specs looks at me from over his textbook before getting up and answering it.

Medda comes inside, bouncing around and grinning. "Up! UP!" she yells, shutting my sketchbook under my nose and yanking my arm up so that I am on my feet. I rub my arm, wincing, and look at her.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask grumpily.

"The dance is _tonight_!" she yells, dancing around the room again, bouncing off the beds and twirling in circles.

"You shouldn't be in here," I say.

She ignores me. "Specs, are you wearing _that_?" she asks loudly.

Specs looks down at his clothes. Jeans and a t-shirt. "Huh? Medda, what are you talking about?"

"The _dance_," she dances to emphasize her point. Specs shoots a look at me.

"I hate dancing," he argues.

I don't say anything. Hopefully if I am quiet, she will forget all about me and not make me go. What use would it be anyways? I certainly don't want to just sit in the damn corner the whole time.

"And you, Dutchy, you have to go too! I will drag you out the door if I have to!"

I groan and shake my head. "No. Medda, I don't think so. There is no way in hell you can get me out the door and to this stupid dance thing."

Medda gasps melodramatically and throws her head back. "Don't ever call a dance stupid! I live for the dance! The DANCE!!!"

Specs mutters something about Lord of the Dance under his breath and locks himself in the bathroom. While Medda is trying to get him out I slip out the door and down the hall, sketchbook in hand.

July 30th, The Cafeteria, 5:00 pm

The cafeteria is half-empty. There are almost no girls. I think this is probably because they are all off getting ready for the dance.

There are some boys in the yard laying hacky sack. I open my sketch book and begin to draw one of them. I quickly draw the line for his back, then sausage-like arms and an arm splayed out besinde him. His hair falls into his face, just over his left eye.

The shadowing is coming along.

"DUTCHY!"

I jump. Medda is sitting beside me, looking over my shoulder. My beautiful picture has a line through it. I lok up.

"What?"

Medda smiles.

"Trying to elude me Doctor?"

Medda is seriously _on_ something. Really.

"Medda, what are you talking about?" I demand.

Medda grins steadily. "Come to the dance!" she pleads, not answering my question.

"I don't like dances," I tell her and try to erase the line through the picture's forehead.

Medda persists. "But it will be fun. Everyone will have a good time, I promise."

"Medda," I mutter, "you really shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"But I can keep it. If everyone just promises to have a good time then nothing can go wrong and my promise will be fulfilled. Dutchy, don't you want to have one fun night before you leave? You will look back on the summer and think 'wow, I am such an idiot for not going to the dance like that hot redhead told me'." She bats her eyelashes.

"Medda, there is no way you are making me go." The picture is coming to. The boy has a smudgy line across his face.

"Dutch-ieeee!"

July 30th, The Auditorium, 8:00 pm

Why am I here? The dance is like a nightmare. There are floaty white streamers everywhere and balloons tied to the chairs. It's like I've died and gone to hell.

Medda is dancing around the room with Jack. She is wearing a poofy purple dress and Jack is wearing dress pants and a collared shirt. Jade is sitting in a corner with a couple of guys from my old class. (Morris and Oscar) (Yes, them)

I don't really care. The only good thing about the night so far is that:

a) I haven't had to make uncomfortable small-talk with anyone, especially Jade

and

b) Skittery is nowhere in sight.

Don't get me wrong, I would take Skittery back in a second. But the only thing worse than making small talk with Jade, is making small talk with Skittery. I would literally go insane and kill myself.

Yeah. Drama _king_. Well, queen, I guess.

The punch here is strawberry. It is all red and I can just imagine someone spilling it all over Jade's very nice, expensive-looking white dress. If only.

I am dreaming about this with terrible pleasure when someone bumps into me.

"Oh, hi, sorry Dutchy," he says.

"No problem. You look nice."

Skittery smiles.

"Yeah, you too."

Oh crap. I am _definately_ in hell.

**End Chapter**

Sorry this took so long and that it is so, so short. I am hoping that I can catch up on all my stories during the Christmas holidays! Please review and accept my apologies.

**Shoutouts:**

**Madison Square--**thanks so much! I couldn't remember what the ending was so I had to go back and reread it. Erm...yeah.

**Erin Go Bragh--**Yeah, there's a gay guy on Student Council and he brought his boyfriend to the semiformal. It was sweet.

**Kid Blink's Dreamer--**muahahahahahahaha! I love messing around with the pairings. It's such fun! (to muses) sorry boys, it just has to be.

Itey!Muse: yeah, she puts me with Snitch.

Me: Why were you _sleeping_ with him then?

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun--**So, they did or didn't forget? I am so confused. Anyways, I hope you liked the card. And the chapter. ONE WEEK UNTIL CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS!!!

**Iambic Pentameter--**you know, the first time I read your name I laughed so hard. I don't even know why. I just thought 'hey! Shakespeare!' Then I laughed. True story.

I'll let you in on a sercre (looks around carefully) I'm in class _right now_.Classes are and aren't stimulating. I get ideas, but they don't always make sense, you know? I apologize for any typos. I literally _live_ off of Spell Check. No kidding.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, and/or any media references I may make.

**Emperor of the World**

July 30th, The River, 10:15 pm

Racetrack is walking between us. He is a little tipsy and is slurring his words together.

"Listh-en you guys," he turns to each of us slowly. "This was a great thummer! I had so, so, so, so much fun!"

Skittery looks slightly embarrassed behind Race's head.

Why, do you ask, am I outside with Skittery? And Racetrack? Because we're 'chaperoning'. Jack and Isabel are ahead of us, holding hands. Apparently they've had a little thing for a while. I just haven't noticed because I'm dense and I was too busy worrying about myself.

Racetrack is finding it difficult to walk in a straight line. He is swerving left and right, hitting Skittery and I in the process. We round a curve and a tall hill comes into view. The river passes by it, bending enticingly. A memory flashes into my head. I can tell that it weaves through Skittery's as well, because he is trying hard not to look at it or me. Racetrack straightens up for a minute and his eye meets mine. They are overcome with sudden clarity before he topples up onto the hill and lies down.

He's not drunk. I can tell.

"Leave me 'ere guys," he says, closing his eyes and curling up like a five-year-old.

I shoot a stolen sideways glance at Skittery who is bending down to Racetrack's side.

"Race, get up," he whispers. He looks up at me hurridly. He looks scared.

Racetrack doesn't answer.

"Let's go Skittery," I say, not even thinking about what I just said.

Skittery looks panicked. "Don't you even _care_ about Racetrack?"

"He's not sick," I say.

Suddenly I realize that it must seem like I'm trying to get Skittery alone.

"...but we should take care of him first, I guess," I add hastily.

Skittery nods and turns back to Racetrack. I see Racetrack flich slightly before resuming a peaceful look of unconciousness.

"Race-track, Race-track."

Race moans dramatically. "Spotty? Is that you?" he gropes in the dark for something. "Spot? I've missed you so much."

Skittery is confused. "Who's Spot?" he hisses to me.

I grin, but Skittery doesn't see me. "Race's boyfriend."

Skittery backs away slowly. "I think he'll be OK for now. He just needs some rest."

"Yeah," I agree.

By the time we start walking again Jack and Isabel are out of view. The river is very soft and there is a slight hum from the dance, which is a little while away.

"It's been a good summer? Hasn't it Dutchy?" He doesn't ask it like that's his opinion of it, he asks it like he wants me to tell him like it was. He wants reassurence.

"I don't know Skittery."

He doesn't look at me.

"I don't know," I say again.

We are walking slowly. I kick a rock into the river and watch it skip smoothly.

"I didn't want it to be like this," he says to me faintly. He sighs.

I wait. And wait. "What did you want it to be like?" I ask.

He doesn't answer.

I want to take charge. I really want to.

So I do. And I kiss him. For a second he doesn't react. When he kisses me back I feel something crying inside of me. Like I'm so happy that he didn't push me away or punch me in the face.

But tomorrow I have to pack my bags and go home.

**End Chapter**

Sorry guys. Short, I know.

**Shoutouts**

Sorry again, no shoutouts.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Newsies, Empress of the World, and/or and other Media references I may make.

((My deepest apologies to you for updating so slowly. I would like to blame it on exams (which are in two weeks!) but I haven't even started studying yet. So, I just have to say sorry and hope you forgive me! Enjoy…))

**Emperor of the World**

July 31st, Specs' and My Room, 9:00 am

In the morning the sun pours through the window. My sketchbook is resting on the ledge, swathed in sunlight. Specs is rolling over in bed still in his clothes from the night before.

He sees me. "Morning," he says.

"Morning."

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles his feet as he enters the bathroom. I reach over to the windowsill and grasp for my sketchbook. I pull the pencil out of the spine and flip the pages open. I begin in the corner, keeping the sketch controlled and dark. So far it is just a space of charcoal pencil. I expand, leaving space for the stars. Every star in the sky. Just as I saw it last night, lying with my back against the cool grass, Skittery's hand clasped in mine.

Specs comes back into the room. He throws a face towel at me. "Get out of bed Michelangelo!" He grins and pulls a hat on his head.

Specs tugs at something under his bed and then, with a great heave he yanks his duffle bag out. He opens the drawers to his dresser and dumps his clothes into the bag.

I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth for a very long time. Whatever I can do to postpone packing my bag.

July 31st, Prucher Hall Auditorium, 12:00 pm

It's noon and in two hours we'll be on buses heading home or our parents will have picked us up. Medda, Jack, Isabel, Racetrack and Skittery have all given me their emails. Just like the beginning of camp, the auditorium is full. This time, however, there is a cheerful buzz about the room.

Medda has uncovered a ratty jean miniskirt, which has multiple patches and permanent markered drawings all over it. She has a plain black t-shirt on over it and neon-green leggings on. Her boots are brown and worn-through looking. I don't think I've ever seen Medda wearing the same thing twice. Jack's camera is hanging around his neck on its usual navy blue strap. His jeans have a huge hole in the knee and his shirt is pale green and old looking. Racetrack is wearing a pair of black pants with a purple vest. A very deep, royal purple over a plain white, slightly stained t-shirt. Isabel has on a dark pair of jeans and a fitted pink dress. She's carrying a slouchy white leather bag, which I'm sure she got from Medda. Specs is wearing beige corduroy pants, a burgundy graphic tee and his old bowler hat, which has finally surfaced on the _last_ day of camp. Medda oohs and ahs over it for a few seconds. Skittery has on the same distressed jeans he had on the first day of camp. His shirt is jade green, pulling his eyes out on his face so that I stare at them…

And me. I'm wearing my old, tattered khaki cargo shorts and a striped white and yellow rugby shirt. I don't even play rugby.

Jade is across the room, sitting with a tall Asian boy who is wearing a lot of army print.

None of us are talking much. Skittery's leg is moving up and down nervously.

Professor Denton stands at the podium and presents a little goodbye speech, then he dismisses us to say goodbye to our friends and get our stuff to our vehicles. After everyone files out, we're still sitting in the forty-third row.

Medda looks sad. She pulls a cigarette out from behind her ear and lights it. "I'm going to miss you guys so much!" she exclaims.

Isabel nods and they hug. When they surface, Medda turns to Jack. "And you," she says, jabbing him in the chest. "Have to call me regularly! You hear? Plus, I'm thinking of taking you up on that offer to buy me Nicotine patches."

Racetrack's phone rings and he fishes it out of his pocket and turns away. Jack and Medda are exchanging addresses and Specs is talking to Isabel.

"Hey, Specs," says Race, turning back around. "Do you think you could give me a lift home? I live out in Queens, so if it's not a problem—"

"Of course it's not," Specs tells him, as if he's being ridiculous.

Skittery stands up and stretches. "I'm going to go load my stuff into my car, anyone want to come."

Everyone looks at me. I blush. Hopefully Skittery doesn't notice.

"Yeah," I say, "I'll come."

July 31st, Skittery's Room, 12:45 pm 

I am sitting on Skittery's bed, waiting for him while he is in the bathroom packing his toothbrush.

Don't get carried away. His roommate, Snitch, is in the room too.

Snitch is bent over his bed, tucking the sheets under he mattress carefully. Skittery takes a navy blue baseball hat off his desk and places it over his curls. He looks so…boy next-door. And I really, really shouldn't think that.

"Nice hat," I say, my heart beating rapidly, but out of the corner of my eye I can see Snitch making his bed, guaranteeing perfect behaviour on my behalf.

"Thanks," says Skittery. "I totally forgot about it. My mom gave it to me before I left."

Snitch smoothes the covers on the bedspread and, satisfied with the bed's appearance, he steps back and throws a bag over his shoulder.

"See you around," he calls to Skittery. He swings the door shut behind him.

My heart begins to beat so violently that I fear it will jump out of my throat.

"Listen, Dutchy," Skittery says softly, slightly awkwardly. "I've had a great summer, and I kind of have to thank you for that. Without you…" his voice cracks and my heart beats.

_Thump, thump._ "Without you…" _Thump, thump… _

He looks at me, eyes sad and pleading. "Without…"

He moves forward, his breathing joining in with the sound of my heart's beats.

His lips come closer. They are peach coloured and smooth.

I close my eyes.

Ecstasy.

July 31st, Seigel's Parking Lot, 2:00 pm 

Specs' multi-coloured car is sitting in the parking lot, engine running. Racetrack finished piling his bags in the trunk. Skittery, Isabel, Jack and Medda stand beside the car, smiling.

"See you guys soon! Keep in touch!" demands Medda.

We pull out of the parking lot, waving to our friends behind us. Specs fiddles around with the radio.

"Hey, Dutchy, do you have any CDs?" he asks after a minute.

I pull one out of my CDs from my case…

Music…_ "Though I was smart though I was right, I thought it better not to fight, I though there was a virtue in always being cool…" _

Of course. The Flaming Lips.

I flip my sketchbook open to the page that is filled with emails and phone numbers. Beside Skittery's, in his scrawl, he has written: _Remember Emperor of the World?_

I smile and close the book.

_"So it came time to fight, I thought that I'd just step aside until the time would prove you wrong and you…would be the fool…"_

**End**

((Yes, the wonderful slashiness of _Emperor _is over. I hope it was a good, non-rushed ending! Please review and give me your thoughts! Will Skittery and Dutchy keep in touch? What about Medda and Jack? Was there really anything going on between Specs and Isabel, I mean, how couldn't there be? Isn't Spot just even the slightest bit mad that Race was away all summer? Wouldn't you be if Race was _yours_ and he just _left_ you for the _entire_ summer? Yeah, exactly!))

**Shoutouts: **

**Two-Bits—**Oh! I really didn't mean t make it a cliffhanger just to upset you! I'm so not against you! See! They got back together-ish! Isn't that a good thing?

**Erin Go Bragh—**yeah, I really love the cliff-hangers! Everyone hates me for them! It keeps people reading though, doesn't it? Admit it, if you read this chapter it's because you really want to know what's going to happen, am I right?

Charlie!Muse: yeah. Whatever. You always thing you're right.

Me: Well, you always think you're right too, so you're just as bad!

Charlie!Muse: No, because I actually am always right.

Me: Are not!

Charlie!Muse: Are too!

(It continues)

**Jacky Higgins—**And you're right, it was coming to an end and now that end has been reached. It's kind of sad, but good because I finally got this off my plate! It's been in the works forever and it's only fifteen chapters long. Wow, impressive.

**Madison Square—**Can you imagine Dutchy as butch? I can't. However, I always picture him _without_ glasses, if that makes any sense.

Charlie!Muse: It doesn't.

Me: Shut up.

Charlie!Muse: whatever.

**Nakaia Aiden-Sun—**Look! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's….Buttons' update? Wha…? Well, it's about time I update I suppose.

Peter!Muse: sorry, we've been keeping her busy.

All Others: Yeah!

Me: I'm going insane!

**Iambic Pentameter—**I have this disease that involves writing unfortunately short chapters. This one is a nice, comfortable length, however. That's because it's the last chapter though. ANYways, I hope you liked it!


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